GIFT  OF 


b 


I 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 
^:Al  .'( 


Silas     Strong 

Emperor  of  the  Woods 


By 

I  rvi  ng  Bacheller 

Author  of  "  Eben  Holden  "  "  Vergilius  " 
"  Darrell  of  the  Blessed  Isles  "  etc. 


And  a  little  child  shall  lead  them 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


New  York  and  London 

Harper   £r   Brothers   Publishers 

1906 


Copyright,  1906,  by  IRVING  BACHELI.ER. 

All  rights  reserved. 
Published  March,  1906. 


13  M 


$ 


To  my  friend  the  late 
Archer  Brown 

in  memory  of  summer  days  when  we 
wandered  far  and  sat  down  to  rest  by 
springs  and  brooks  in  the  doomed  empire  of 
Strong  and  talked  of  saving  it  and  of  better 
times  and  knew  not  they  were  impossible. 


Foreword 

\ 

SOME  of  the  people  of  these  pages,  when  the 
author  endeavored  to  regulate  their  conduct  ac 
cording  to  well-known  rules  of  literary  construc 
tion,  declared  themselves  free  and  independent. 
When,  urged  by  him,  they  tried  to  speak  and  act 
in  the  fashion  of  most  novels,  they  laughed,  and 
seemed  to  be  ashamed  of  themselves,  and  with  good 
reason. 

They  are  slow,  stubborn,  modest,  shy,  and  used 
to  the  open.  Not  for  them  are  the  narrow  stage, 
the  swift  action,  the  fine-wrought  chain  of  artful 
incident  that  characterize  a  modern  romance. 

Of  late  authors  have  succeeded  rather  well  in 
turning  people  into  animals  and  animals  into 
people.  Why  not,  if  one's  art  can  perform 
miracles?  This  book  aims  not  to  emulate  or 
amend  the  work  of  the  Creator.  Its  people  are 
just  folks  of  a  very  old  pattern,  its  animals  rather 
common  and  of  small  attainments.  It  is  in  no 
sense  a  literary  performance.  It  pretends  to  be 

vii 


Foreword 

nothing  more  than  a  simple  account  of  one  sum 
mer's  life,  pretty  much  as  it  was  lived,  in  a  part 
of  the  Adirondacks .  It  goes  on  about  as  things 
happen  there,  with  a  leisurely  pace,  like  that  of 
the  woods  lover  on  a  trail  who  may  be  halted  by 
nothing  more  than  a  flower  or  a  bird-song.  One 
day  follows  another  in  the  old  fashion  of  those 
places  where  men  go  for  rest  and  avarice  quits 
them  with  bloody  spurs  and  they  forget  the  calendar 
and  measure  time  on  the  dial  of  the  heavens. 

The  book  has  one  high  ambition.  It  has  tried 
to  tell  the  sad  story  of  the  wilderness  itself — to 
show,  from  the  woodsman's  view-point,  the  play  of 
great  forces  which  have  been  tearing  down  his 
home  and  turning  it  into  the  flesh  and  bone  of 
cities. 

Were  it  to  cause  any  reader  to  value  what  re 
mains  of  the  forest  above  its  market-price  and  to 
do  his  part  in  checking  the  greed  of  the  saws,  it 
would  be  worth  while — bad  as  it  is. 


OF  THE 

|   UNIVERSITY 


Silas    Strong 


HE  song  of  the  saws  began  long 
ago  at  the  mouths  oi  the  rivers. 
Slowly  the  axes  gnawed  their  way 
southward,  and  the  ominous,  pro 
phetic  chant  followed  them.  Men 
seemed  to  goad  the  rivers  to  increase  their 
speed.  They  caught  and  held  and  harnessed 
them  as  if  they  had  been  horses  and  drove  them 
into  flumes  and  leaped  them  over  dams  and 
pulled  and  hauled  and  baffled  them  until  they 
broke  away  with  the  power  of  madness  in  their 
rush.  But,  even  then,  the  current  of  the  rivers 
would  not  do ;  the  current  of  thunderbolts  could 
not  have  whirled  the  wheels  with  speed  enough. 
Now  steam  bursts  upon  the  piston-head  with 
the  power  of  a  hundred  horses.  The  hungry 
steel  races  through  columns  of  pine  as  if  they 
were  soft  as  butter  and  its  bass  note  booms 


Silas   Strong 

night  and  day  to  the  heavens.  Hear  it  now. 
The  burden  of  that  old  song  is  m-o-r-e,  m-o-r-e, 
m-o-r-e ! 

It  is  doleful  music,  God  knows,  but,  mind 
you,  it  voices  the  need  of  the  growing  land. 
It  sings  of  the  doom  of  the  woods.  It  may  be 
heard  all  along  the  crumbling  edge  of  the  wil 
derness  from  Maine  to  Minnesota.  Day  by  day 
hammers  beat  time  while  the  saws  continue 
their  epic  chorus. 

There  are  towers  and  spires  and  domes  and 
high  walls  where,  in  our  boyhood,  there  were 
only  trees  far  older  than  the  century,  and  these 
rivers  that  flow  north  go  naked  in  open  fields 
for  half  their  journey.  Every  spring  miles  of 
timber  come  plunging  over  cataracts  and  rush 
ing  through  rapids  and  crowding  into  slow  water 
on  its  way  to  the  saws.  There  a  shaft  of  pine 
which  has  been  a  hundred  years  getting  its 
girth  is  ripped  into  slices  and  scattered  upon  the 
stack  in  a  minute.  A  new  river,  the  rushing, 
steam-driven  river  of  steel,  bears  it  away  to  the 
growing  cities.  Silas  Strong  once  wrote  in  his  old 
memorandum-book  these  words:  "Strong  says 
to  himself  seems  so  the  world  was  goin'  to  be 
peeled  an'  hollered  out  an'  weighed  an'  measured 
an'  sold  till  it's  all  et  up  like  an  apple." 

2 


Silas    Strong 

On  the  smooth  shore  of  the  river  below  Ra- 
quette  Falls,  and  within  twenty  rods  of  his  great 
mill,  lived  a  man  of  the  name  of  Gordon  with  two 
motherless  children.  Pity  about  him!  Married 
a  daughter  of  ''Bill"  Strong  up  in  the  woods — 
an  excellent  woman — made  money  and  wasted 
it  and  went  far  to  the  bad.  Good  fellow,  drink, 
poker,  and  so  on  down  the  hill!  His  wife  died 
leaving  two  children  —  blue  -  eyed  little  people 
with  curly,  flaxen  hair — a  boy  of  four  a  girl  of 
nearly  three  years.  The  boy's  full  name  was 
John  Socksmith  Gordon  —  reduced  in  familiar 
parlance  to  Socky.  The  girl  was  baptized  Susan 
Bradbury  Gordon,  but  was  called  Sue. 

Their  Uncle  Silas  Strong  came  to  the  funeral 
of  their  mother.  He  had  travelled  more  than 
eighty  miles  in  twenty-four  hours,  his  boat  now 
above  and  now  beneath  him.  He  brought  his 
dog  and  rifle,  and  wore  a  great  steel  watch-chain 
and  a  pair  of  moccasins  with  fringe  on  the  sides, 
and  a  wolf -skin  jacket.  He  carried  the  children 
on  his  shoulders  and  tossed  them  in  the  air,  while 
his  great  size  and  odd  attire  seemed  to  lay  -hold 
of  their  spirits. 

As  time  passed,  a  halo  of  romantic  splendor 
gathered  about  this  uncle's  memory.  One  day 
Socky  heard  him  referred  to  as  the  "  Emperor  of 

3 


Silas    Strong 

the  Woods."  He  was  not  long  finding  out  that 
an  emperor  was  a  very  grand  person  who  wore 
gold  on  his  head  and  shoulders  and  rode  a  fine 
horse  and  was  always  ready  for  a  fight.  So 
their  ideal  gathered  power  and  richness,  one 
might  say,  the  longer  he  lived  in  their  fancy. 
They  loved  their  father,  but  as  a  hero  he  had 
not  been  a  great  success.  There  was  a  time 
when  both  had  entertained  some  hope  for  him, 
but  as  they  saw  how  frequently  he  grew  "  tired" 
they  gave  their  devotion  more  and  more  to  this 
beloved  memory.  Their  uncle's  home  was  re 
mote  from  theirs,  and  so  his  power  over  them 
had  never  been  broken  by  familiarity. 

Socky  and  Sue  told  their  young  friends  all 
they  had  been  able  to  learn  of  their  Uncle  Silas, 
and,  being  pressed  for  more  knowledge,  had  re 
course  to  invention.  Stories  which  their  father 
had  told  grew  into  wonder-tales  of  the  riches, 
the  strength,  the  splendor,  and  the  general  de 
structive  power  of  this  great  man.  Sue,  the 
first  day  she  went  to  Sunday-school,  when  the 
minister  inquired  who  slew  a  lion  by  the  strength 
of  his  hands,  confidently  answered,  "Uncle 
Silas." 

There  was  one  girl  in  the  village  who  had  an 
Uncle  Phil  with  a  fine  air  of  authority  and  a 

4 


Silas    Strong 

wonderful  watch  and  chain;  there  was  yet  an 
other  with  an  Uncle  Henry,  who  enjoyed  the  dis 
tinction  of  having  had  the  small-pox;  there  was 
a  boy,  also,  who  had  an  Uncle  Reuben  with  a 
wooden  leg  and  a  remarkable  history,  and  a  wen 
beside  his  nose  with  a  wart  on  the  same.  But 
these  were  familiar  figures,  and  while  each  had 
merits  of  no  low  degree,  their  advocates  were 
soon  put  to  shame  by  the  charms  of  that  myste 
rious  and  remote  Uncle  Silas. 

There  was  a  little  nook  in  the  lumber-yard 
where  children  used  to  meet  every  Saturday  for 
play  and  free  discussion.  There,  now  and  then, 
some  new-comer  entered  an  uncle  in  the  com 
petition.  There,  always,  a  primitive  pride  of 
blood  asserted  itself  in  the  remote  descendants, 
shall  we  say,  of  many  an  ancient  lord  and 
chieftain.  One  day  —  Sue  was  then  five  and 
Socky  six  years  of  age  —  Lizzie  Cornell  put  a 
cousin  on  exhibit  in  this  little  theatre  of  child 
hood.  He  was  a  boy  with  red  hair  and  superior 
invention  from  out  of  town.  He  stood  near 
Lizzie  —  a  deep  and  designing  miss — and  said 
not  a  word,  until  Sue  began  about  her  Uncle 
Silas. 

It  was  a  new  tale  of  that  remarkable  hunter 
which  her  father  had  related  the  night  before 

5 


Silas   Strong 

while  she  lay  waiting  for  the  sandman.  She  told 
how  her  uncle  had  seen  a  panther  one  day  when 
he  was  travelling  without  a  gun.  His  dog  chased 
the  panther  and  soon  drove  him  up  a  tree.  Now, 
it  seemed,  the  only  thing  in  the  nature  of  a 
weapon  the  hunter  had  with  him  was  a  piece  of 
new  rope  for  his  canoe.  After  a  moment's  re 
flection  the  great  man  climbed  the  tree  and 
threw  a  noose  over  the  panther's  neck  while 
his  faithful  dog  was  barking  below.  Then  the 
cute  Uncle  Silas  made  his  rope  fast  to  a  limb  and 
shook  the  tree  so  that  when  the  panther  jumped 
for  the  ground  he  hung  himself. 

To  most  of  those  who  heard  the  narrative  it 
seemed  to  be  a  rather  creditable  exploit,  showing, 
as  it  did,  a  shrewdness  and  ready  courage  of  no 
mean  order  on  the  part  of  Uncle  Silas.  Murmurs 
of  glad  approval  were  hushed,  however,  by  the 
voice  of  the  red-headed  boy. 

"Pooh!  that's  nothing,"  said  he,  with  con 
tempt.  "  My  Uncle  Mose  chased  a  panther  once 
an'  overtook  him  and  ketched  him  by  the  tail 
an'  fetched  his  head  agin  a  tree,  quick  as  a 
flash,  an'  knocked  his  brains  out." 

His  words  ran  glibly  and  showed  an  off-hand 
mastery  of  panthers  quite  unequalled.  Here  was 
an  uncle  of  marked  superiority  and  promise. 

6 


Silas   Strong 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence  in  the  crowd. 

"If  ye  don't  believe  it,"  said  the  red-headed 
boy,  "  I  can  show  ye  a  vest  my  mother  made  out 
o'  the  skin." 

That  was  conclusive.  Sue  blushed  for  shame 
and  looked  into  the  face  of  Socky.  Her  mouth 
drooped  a  little  and  her  under  lip  trembled  with 
anxiety.  Doubt,  thoughtfulness,  and  confusion 
were  on  the  face  of  her  brother.  He  scraped  the 
sand  with  his  foot.  He  felt  that  he  had  some 
times  stretched  the  truth  a  little,  but  this — this 
went  beyond  his  capacity  for  invention. 

"Don't  believe  it,"  he  whispered,  with  half  a 
sneer  as  he  glanced  down  at  Sue. 

Lizzie  Cornell  began  to  titter.  All  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  the  unhappy  pair  as  if  to  say,  "  How 
about  your  Uncle  Silas  now?"  The  populace, 
deserting  the  standard  of  the  old  king,  gathered 
in  front  of  the  red-headed  boy  and  began  to 
inquire  into  the  merits  of  Uncle  Mose. 

Socky  and  Sue  hesitated.  Curiosity  struggled 
with  resentment.  Slowly  and  thoughtfully  they 
walked  away.  For  a  moment  neither  spoke. 
Soon  a  cheering  thought  came  into  the  mind  of 
Sue. 

"Maybe  Uncle  Silas  has  ketched  a  panther 
by  the  tall,  too,"  said  she,  hopefully.  Socky, 

7 


Silas    Strong 

his  hands  in  his  pockets,  looked  down  with  a 
dazed  expression. 

"I'm  going  to  ask  father,"  said  he,  thought 
fully. 

It  was  now  late  in  the  afternoon.  They  went 
home  and  sat  in  silence  on  the  veranda,  watching 
for  their  father.  The  old  Frenchwoman  who 
kept  house  for  him  tried  to  coax  them  in,  but 
they  would  make  no  words  with  her.  Long  they 
sat  there  looking  wistfully  down  the  river-bank. 

Presently  Sue  hauled  out  of  her  pocket  a  tiny 
rag  doll  which  she  carried  for  casual  use.  It 
came  handy  in  moments  of  loneliness  and  de 
spair  outside  the  house.  She  toyed  with  its 
garments,  humming  in  a  motherly  fashion.  It 
was  nearly  dark  when  they  saw  their  father 
staggering  homeward  according  to  his  habit. 
They  knew  not  yet  the  meaning  of  that  waver 
ing  walk. 

"There  he  comes!"  said  Socky,  as  they  both 
ran  to  meet  him.  "  He  can't  carry  us  to-night. 
He's  awful  tired." 

They  thought  him  "tired."  They  kissed  him 
and  took  his  hands  in  theirs,  and  led  him  into 
the  house.  Stern  and  silent  he  sat  down  beside 
them  at  the  supper-table.  The  children  were 
also  silent  and  sober-faced  from  intuitive  sym- 

8 


Silas   Strong 

pathy.  They  could  not  yet  introduce  the  topic 
which  weighed  upon  them. 

Socky  looked  at  his  father.  For  the  first  time 
he  noted  that  his  clothes  were  shabby;  he  knew 
that  a  few  days  before  his  father  had  lost  his 
watch.  The  boy  stole  away  from  the  table,  and 
went  to  his  little  trunk  and  brought  the  sacred 
thing  which  his  teacher  had  given  him  Christ 
mas  Day — a  cheap  watch  that  told  time  with  a 
noisy  and  inspiring  tick.  He  laid  it  down  by 
his  father's  plate. 

" There,"  said  he,  "I'm  going  to  let  you  wear 
my  watch." 

It  was  one  of  those  deep  thrusts  which  only 
the  hand  of  innocence  can  administer.  Richard 
Gordon  took  the  watch  in  his  hand  and  sat  a 
moment  looking  down.  The  boy  manfully  re 
sumed  his  chair. 

"It  don't  look  very  well  for  you  to  be  going 
around  without  a  watch,"  he  remarked,  taking 
up  his  piece  of  bread  and  butter. 

His  father  put  the  watch  in  his  pocket. 

"You  can  let  me  wear  it  Sundays,"  the  boy 
added.  "You  won't  need  it  Sundays." 

A  smile  overspread  the  man's  face. 

The  children,  quick  to  see  their  opportunity, 
approached  him  on  either  side.  Sue  put  her 


Silas    Strong 

arms  around  the  neck  of  her  father  and  kissed 
him. 

"  Tell  us  a  story  about  Uncle  Silas,"  she  pleaded. 

"Uncle  Silas!"  he  exclaimed.  "We're  all  go 
ing  to  see  him  in  a  few  days." 

The  children  were  mute  with  surprise.  Sue's 
little  doll  dropped  from  her  hands  to  the  floor. 
Her  face  changed  color  and  she  turned  quickly, 
with  a  loud  cry,  and  drummed  on  the  table  so 
that  the  dishes  rattled.  Socky  leaned  over  the 
back  of  a  chair  and  shook  his  head,  and  gave  his 
feet  a  fling  and  then  recovered  his  dignity. 

"Now  don't  get  excited,"  remarked  their  fa 
ther. 

They  ran  out  of  the  room,  and  stood  laughing 
and  whispering  together  for  a  moment.  Then 
they  rushed  back. 

"When  are  we  going?"  the  boy  inquired. 

"  In  a  day  or  two,"  said  Gordon,  who  still  sat 
drinking  his  tea. 

Sue  ran  to  tell  Aunt  Marie,  the  housekeeper, 
and  Socky  sat  in  his  little  rocking-chair  for  a 
moment  of  sober  thought. 

"Look  here,  old  chap,"  said  Gordon,  who  was 
wont  to  apply  the  terms  of  mature  good- 'fellow 
ship  to  his  little  son.  Socky  came  and  stood  by 
the  side  of  his  father. 

10 


Silas   Strong 

"You  an'  I  have  been  friends  for  some  time, 
haven't  we?"  was  the  strange  and  half-maudlin 
query  which  Gordon  put  to  his  son. 

The  boy  smiled  and  came  nearer. 

"An'  I've  always  treated  ye  right — ain't  I? 
Answer  me." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  folks  say  you're  neglected  an'  that  you 
don't  have  decent  clothes  an'  that  you  might  as 
well  have  no  father  at  all.  Now,  old  boy,  I'm 
going  to  tell  you  the  truth;  I'm  broke — failed 
in  business,  an'  have  had  to  give  up.  Understand 
me;  I  haven't  a  cent  in  the  world." 

The  man  smote  his  empty  pocket  suggestive 
ly.  The  boy  was  now  deeply  serious.  Not  able 
to  comprehend  the  full  purport  of  his  father's 
words,  he  saw  something  in  the  face  before  him 
which  began  to  hurt.  His  lower  lip  trembled  a 
little. 

"Don't  worry,  old  friend,"  said  Gordon,  clap 
ping  him  on  the  shoulder. 

Just  then  Sue  came  running  back. 

"Say,"  said  she,  climbing  on  a  round  of  her 
father's  chair,  "did  Uncle  Silas  ever  ketch  a 
panther  by  the  tail?" 

The  children  held  their  breaths  waiting  for  the 
answer. 

ii 


Silas  Strong 

"Ketch  a  panther  by  the  tail!"  their  fa 
ther  exclaimed.  "Whatever  put  that  in  your 
head?" 

Sue  answered  with  some  show  of  excitement. 
Her  words  came  fast. 

"  Lizzie  Cornell's  cousin  he  said  that  his  Uncle 
Mose  had  ketched  a  panther  by  the  tail  an* 
knocked  his  brains  out." 

Their  father  smiled  again. 

"That  kind  o'  floored  ye,  didn't  it,  old  girl?" 
said  he,  with  a  kiss.  "Le's  see,"  he  continued, 
drawing  the  children  close  on  either  side  of  him. 
"I  don'  know  as  he  ever  ketched  a  panther  by 
the  tail,  but  I'll  tell  ye  what  he  did  do.  One 
day  when  he  hadn't  any  gun  with  him  he  come 
acrost  a  big  bear,  an'  Uncle  Sile  fetched  him  a 
cuff  with  his  fist  an'  broke  the  bear's  neck,  an' 
then  he  brought  him  home  on  his  back  an'  et 
him  for  dinner." 

"Oh!"  the  girl  exclaimed,  her  mouth  and  eyes 
wide  open. 

Socky  whistled  a  shrill  note  of  surprise  and 
thankfulness.  Then  he  clucked  after  the  man 
ner  of  one  starting  his  horse. 

"My  stars!"  he  exclaimed,  and  so  saying  he 
skipped  across  the  floor  and  brought  his  fist 
down  heavily  upon  the  lounge.  Uncle  Silas  had 

12 


Silas   Strong 

been  saved — plucked,  as  it  were,  from  the  very 
jaws  of  obscurity. 

When  they  were  ready  to  get  into  bed  the  chil 
dren  knelt  as  usual  before  old  Aunt  Marie,  the 
housekeeper.  Sue  ventured  to  add  a  sentence 
to  her  prayer.  "  God  bless  Uncle  Silas, "  said  she, 
"and  make  him  very — very — " 

The  girl  hesitated,  trying  to  find  the  right 
word. 

"Powerful,"  her  brother  suggested,  still  in  the 
attitude  of  devotion. 

"  Powerful,"  repeated  Sue,  in  a  trembling  voice, 
and  then  added:  "for  Christ's  sake.  Amen." 

They  lay  a  long  time  discussing  what  they 
should  say  and  do  when  at  last  they  were  come 
into  the  presence  of  the  great  man.  Suddenly  a 
notion  entered  the  mind  of  Socky  that,  in  order 
to  keep  the  favor  of  fortune,  he  must  rise  and 
clap  his  hand  three  times  upon  the  round  top  of 
the  posts  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  Accordingly  he 
rose  and  satisfied  this  truly  pagan  impulse. 

Then  he  repeated  the  story  of  his  uncle  and 
the  bear  over  and  over  again,  pausing  thought 
fully  at  the  point  of  severest  action  and  add 
ing  a  little  color  to  heighten  the  effect.  Here 
and  there  Sue  prompted  him,  and  details  arose 
which  seemed  to  merit  careful  consideration. 


Silas   Strong 

"I  wouldn't  wonder  but  what  Uncle  Silas 
must  'a'  spit  on  his  hand  before  he  struck  the 
bear,"  said  Socky,  remembering  how  strong 
men  often  prepared  themselves  for  a  difficult 
undertaking. 

When  the  story  had  been  amplified,  in  a  gen 
erous  degree,  and  well  committed  to  memory, 
they  began  to  talk  of  Lizzie  Cornell  and  her 
cousin,  the  red-headed  boy,  and  planned  how 
they  would  seek  them  out  next  day  and  defy 
them  with  the  last  great  achievement  of  their 
Uncle  Silas. 

"He's  a  nasty  thing,"  the  girl  exclaimed, 
suddenly. 

"  I  feel  kind  o'  sorry  for  him,"  said  Socky,  with 
a  sigh. 

"Why?" 

"Cos  he  thinks  his  uncle  beats  the  world  an' 
he  ain't  nowhere." 

"Maybe  he'll  want  to  fight,"  said  Sue. 

"Then  I'll  fetch  him  a  cuff." 

" S'pose  you  was  to  break  his  neck?" 

"I'll  hit  him  in  the  breast,"  said  Socky, 
thoughtfully,  feeling  his  muscle. 

Sue  soon  fell  asleep,  but  Socky  lay  thinking 
about  his  father.  He  had  crossed  the  edge  of  the 
beginning  of  trouble.  He  thought  of  those  words 

14 


Silas    Strong 

—  and  of  a  certain  look  which  accompanied 
them — "I  haven't  got  a  cent  in  the  world." 
What  did  they  mean?  He  could  only  judge 
from  experience — from  moments  when  he  had 
stood  looking  through  glass  windows  and  show 
cases  at  things  which  had  tempted  him  and 
which  he  had  not  been  able  to  enjoy.  Oh,  the 
bitter  pain  of  it!  Must  his  father  endure  that 
kind  of  thing?  He  lay  for  a  few  moments 
weeping  silently. 

All  at  once  the  thought  of  his  little  bank  came 
to  him.  It  was  nearly  full  of  pennies.  He  rose 
in  bed  and  listened.  The  room  was  dark,  but 
he  could  hear  Aunt  Marie  at  work  in  the  kitchen. 
That  gave  him  courage,  and  he  crept  stealthily 
out  of  bed  and  went  to  his  trunk  and  felt  for  the 
little  square  house  of  painted  tin  with  a  slot  in 
the  chimney.  It  lay  beneath  his  Sunday  clothes, 
and  he  raised  and  gently  shook  it.  He  could 
hear  that  familiar  and  pleasant  sound  of  the 
coin. 

Meanwhile  his  father  had  been  sitting  alone. 
For  weeks  he  had  been  rapidly  going  downhill. 
His  friends  had  all  turned  against  him.  He  had 
been  fairly  stoned  with  reproaches.  He  could 
see  only  trouble  behind,  disgrace  before,  and 
despair  on  either  side.  He  held  a  revolver  in 

15 


Silas    Strong 

his  hand.     A  child's  voice  rang  out  in  the  si 
lence,  calling  "  father." 

Gordon  leaned  forward  upon  the  table.  He 
began  to  be  conscious  of  things  beyond  himself. 
He  heard  the  great  mill-saw  roaring  in  the  still 
night ;  he  heard  the  tick  of  the  clock  near  him. 
Suddenly  his  little  son  peered  through  the  half- 
open  door. 

"Father,"  Socky  whispered. 

Gordon  started  from  his  chair,  and,  seeing  the 
boy,  sat  down  again. 

Socky  was  near  crying  but  restrained  himself. 
Without  a  word  he  deposited  his  bank  on  the 
table.  It  was  a  moment  of  solemn  renunciation. 
He  was  like  one  before  the  altar  giving  up  the 
vanities  of  the  world.  He  looked  soberly  at  his 
father  and  said,  "I'm  going  to  give  you  all  my 
money." 

Gordon  said  not  a  word  and  there  was  a  mo 
ment  of  silence. 

"More  than  a  dollar  in  it,  "the  boy  suggested, 
proudly. 

Still  his  father  sat  resting  his  head  upon  his 
hand  in  silence  while  he  seemed  to  be  trying  the 
point  of  a  pen. 

"  You  may  give  me  five  cents  if  you've  a  mind 
to  when  you  open  it,"  Socky  added. 

16 


Silas    Strong 

Gordon  turned  slowly  and  kissed  the  forehead 
of  his  little  son.  The  boy  put  his  arms  around 
the  neck  of  his  father  and  begged  him  to  come 
and  lie  upon  the  bed  and  tell  a  story. 

So  it  happened  the  current  of  ruin  was  turned 
aside — the  heat  -  oppressed  brain  diverted  from 
its  purpose.  For  as  the  man  lay  beside  his 
children  he  began  to  think  of  them  and  less  of 
himself.  "  I  cannot  leave  them,"  he  concluded. 
"When  I  go  I  shall  take  them  with  me." 

In  the  long,  still  hours  he  lay  thinking. 

The  south  wind  began  to  stir  the  pines,  and 
cool  air  from  out  of  the  wild  country  came 
through  an  open  window.  Fathoms  of  dusty, 
dead  air  which  had  hung  for  weeks  over  the 
valley,  growing  hotter  and  more  oppressive  in 
the  burning  sunlight,  moved  away.  A  cloud 
passing  northward  flung  a  sprinkle  of  rain  upon 
the  broad,  smoky  flats  and  was  drained  before  it 
reached  the  great  river.  All  who  were  sick  and 
weary  felt  the  ineffable  healing  of  the  woodland 
breeze.  It  soothed  the  aching  brain  of  the  mill- 
owner  and  slackened  the  ruinous  toil  of  his 
thoughts. 

Gordon  slept  soundly  for  the  first  time  in  al 
most  a  month. 


II 


EXT  morning  Gordon  felt  better. 

He  began  even  to  consider  what 

he  could  do  to  mend  his  life. 
The    children    got    ready    for 

Sunday-school  and  were  on  their 
way  to  church  an  hour  ahead  of  time.  Sue,  in 
her  white  dress  and  pretty  bonnet,  walked  with  a 
self-conscious,  don't-touch-me  air.  Socky,  in  his 
little  sailor  suit,  had  the  downward  eye  of  medi 
tation.  Each  carried  a  Testament  and  looked 
neither  to  right  nor  left.  They  hurried  as  if 
eager  for  spiritual  refreshment.  They  were,  how 
ever,  like  the  veriest  barbarians  setting  out  with 
spears  and  arrows  in  quest  of  revenge.  They 
were  thinking  of  Lizzie  Cornell  and  that  boy  of 
the  red  head  and  the  doomed  uncle.  Socky 's 
lips  moved  silently  as  he  hurried.  One  might 
have  inferred  that  he  was  repeating  his  golden 
text.  Such  an  inference  would  have  been  far 
from  the  truth.  He  was,  in  fact,  tightening  the 
grasp  of  memory  on  those  inspiring  words :  "an' 

18 


Silas    Strong 

Uncle  Sile  fetched  him  a  cuff  with  his  fist  an* 
broke  the  bear's  neck,  an'  then  he  brought  him 
home  on  his  back  an'  et  him  for  dinner."  They 
joined  a  group  of  children  who  were  sitting  on 
the  steps  of  the  old  church.  Their  hearts  beat 
fast  when  they  saw  Lizzie  coming  with  her 
cousin,  the  red-headed  boy. 

A  number  went  forth  to  meet  the  two. 

"Tell  us  the  badger  story,"  said  they  to  the 
red-headed  boy. 

"Pooh!  that  ain't  much,"  he  answered,  mod 
estly. 

"Please  tell  us,"  they  insisted. 

"Wai,  one  day  my  Uncle  Mose  see  a  side-hill 
badger — " 

"What's  a  side -hill  badger?"  a  voice  inter 
rupted. 

"An  animal  what  lives  on  a  hill,  an'  has  legs 
longer  on  one  side  than  on  t'other,  so't  he  can 
run  round  the  side  of  it,"  said  he,  glibly,  and 
with  a  look  of  pity  for  such  ignorance. 

"Go  on  with  the  story,"  said  another  voice. 

"My  Uncle  Mose  sat  an'  watched  one  day  up 
in  the  limb  of  a  tree  above  the  hole  of  a  badger. 
By-an'-by  an  ol'  he  badger  come  out,  an'  my 
uncle  dropped  onto  his  back,  an'  rode  him  round 
an'  round  the  hill  'til  he  was  jes'  tuckered  out. 

19 


Silas    Strong 

Then  Uncle  Mose  put  a  rope  on  his  neck  an'  tied 
him  to  a  tree,  an'  the  ol'  badger  dug  an'  dug 
until  they  was  a  hole  in  the  ground  so  big  you 
could  put  a  house  in  it.  An'  my  uncle  he  got 
an  idee,  an'  so  one  day  he  fetched  him  out  to 
South  Colton  an'  learnt  him  how  to  dig  wells 
an'  cellars,  an'  bym-by  the  ol'  badger  could  earn 
more  money  than  a  hired  man." 

"Shucks!"  said  Socky,  turning  upon  his  ad 
versary  with  sneering,  studied  scorn.  "That's 
nothing!" 

Then  proudly  stepping  forward,  he  flung  the 
latest  exploit  of  his  Uncle  Silas  into  the  freckled 
face  of  the  red-headed  boy.  It  stunned  the  able 
advocate  of  old  Moses  Leonard — a  mighty  hunter 
in  his  time — and  there  fell  a  moment  of  silence 
followed  by  murmurs  of  applause. 

The  little  barbarian — Lizzie  Cornell — had  be 
gun  to  scent  the  battle  and  stood  sharpening  an 
arrow. 

"It's  a  lie,"  said  the  red-headed  boy,  recover 
ing  the  power  of  speech. 

"  His  father's  a  thief  an'  a  drunkard,  anyway." 
That  was  the  arrow  of  Lizzie  Cornell. 

Socky  had  raised  his  fists  to  vindicate  his 
honor,  when,  hearing  the  remark  about  his  father, 
he  turned  quickly  upon  the  girl  who  made  it. 

20 


Silas  Strong 

What  manner  of  rebuke  he  would  have  ad 
ministered,  history  is  unable  to  record.  The 
minister  had  come.  The  children  began  to 
scatter.  Lizzie  ^and  her  red-headed  cousin  ran 
around  the  church.  Socky  and  Sue  stood  with 
angry  faces. 

Suddenly  Socky  leaned  upon  the  church  door 
and  burst  into  tears.  He  dimly  comprehended 
the  disgrace  which  Lizzie  had  sought  to  put  upon 
him.  The  minister  could  not  persuade  him  to 
enter  the  church  or  to  explain  the  nature  of  his 
trouble. 

When  all  had  gone  into  Sunday-school,  the  boy 
turned,  wiping  his  eyes.  Sue  stood  beside  him, 
a  portrait  of  despair. 

"Le's  go  home  an'  tell  our  father,"  said  she. 

They  started  slowly,  but  as  their  indignation 
grew  their  feet  hurried.  Neither  spoke  in  the 
long  journey  to  their  door.  They  ran  through 
the  hall  and  rushed  in  upon  their  father  who  sat 
reading. 

"Oh,  father!"  said  the  girl,  in  excited  tones; 
"  Lizzie  Cornell  says  you're  a  thief  an'  a  drunk 
ard." 

Gordon  rose  and  turned  pale. 

The  hands  and  voices  of  the  children  were 
ever  raised  against  him. 

21 


Silas   Strong 

"  It's  a  lie!"  said  he,  turning  away. 

He  stood  a  moment  looking  out  of  the  window. 
He  must  take  them  to  some  lonely  part  of  the 
wilderness  and  there  make  an  end  of  his  trouble 
and  of  theirs.  He  turned  to  the  children,  saying, 
" Right  after  dinner  we'll  start  for  the  woods." 

So  it  befell  that  in  the  afternoon  of  a  Sunday 
late  in  June,  Socky  and  Sue,  with  all  their  effects 
in  a  pack-basket,  and  their  father  beside  them, 
started  in  a  spring- wagon  over  the  broad,  stony 
terraces  that  lift  southward  into  thickening 
woods,  on  their  way  to  great  peril. 

And  so,  too,  it  befell  that  in  leaving  home  and 
the  tearful  face  of  dear  Aunt  Marie,  they  were 
sustained  by  a  thought  of  that  good  and  mighty 
man  whom  they  hoped  soon  to  see — their  Uncle 
Silas. 


Ill 


HE  day  was  hot  and  still.  Slowly 
they  mounted  the  foot-hills  be 
tween  meadows  aglow  with  color. 
The  country  seemed  to  flow  ever 
downward  past  their  sleepy  eyes 
on  its  way  to  the  great  valley.  The  daisies 
were  like  white  foam  on  the  slow  cascade  of  Bow 
man's  Hill,  and  there  were  masses  of  red  and 
yellow  which  appeared  to  be  drifting  on  the 
flats.  A  driver  sat  on  the  front  seat,  and  Gor 
don  behind  with  Socky  and  Sue.  The  little  folk 
chattered  together  and  wearied  their  father  with 
queries  about  birds  and  beasts.  By-and-by  the 
girl  grew  silent,  her  chin  sank  upon  her  breast, 
and  her  head  began  to  shake  and  sway  as  their 
wagon  clattered  over  the  rough  road.  In  a 
moment  Socky 's  head  was  nodding  also,  and  the 
feet  of  both  swung  limp  below  the  wagon-seat. 
They  had  seemed  to  sink  and  rise  and  struggle 
and  cry  out  in  the  silence,  and  were  now  as  those 
drowned  beneath  it.  Gordon  drew  them  tow- 

23 


Silas    Strong 

ards  him  and  lifted  their  legs  upon  the  cush 
ioned  wagon -seat.  He  sat  thinking  as  they 
rode.  They  had  been  hard  on  him  —  those 
creditors.  He  had  not  meant  to  steal,  but  only 
to  borrow  that  small  sum  which  he  had  taken 
out  of  the  business  in  order  to  feed  and  clothe 
the  children  who  lay  beside  him.  True,  some 
dollars  of  it  had  gone  to  buy  oblivion  —  a  few 
hours  of  unearned,  of  unholy  relief.  How  else, 
thought  he,  could  he  have  stood  the  reproaches 
of  brutal  men  ? 

They  arrived  at  Tupper's  Mill  late  in  the  after 
noon.  There  Gordon  found  a  canoe  and  made 
ready.  At  this  point  the  river  turned  like  a 
scared  horse  and  ran  east  by  south,  around  Tup- 
per  Ridge,  in  a  wio^e  loop,  and,  as  if  doubting 
its  way,  slackened  pace,  and,  wavering  right  and 
left,  moved  slowly  into  the  shade  of  the  forest, 
and  then,  as  if  reassured,  went  on  at  a  full 
gallop,  leaping  over  the  cliff  at  Fiddler's  Falls. 
Below,  it  turned  to  the  north,  and,  seeming  to 
see  its  way  at  last,  grew  calm  and  crossed  the 
flats  wearily,  covered  with  foam. 

Socky  woke  and  rubbed  his  eyes  when  he 
and  his  sister  were  taken  out  of  the  wagon. 
Sue  continued  to  sleep,  although  carried  like  a 
sack  of  meal  under  the  arm  of  the  driver  and 

24 


Silas    Strong 

laid  amidships  on  a  blanket.  Mr.  Tupper,  the 
mill  man,  gave  them  a  piece  of  meat  which,  out 
of  courtesy  to  the  law,  he  called  "  mountain 
lamb."  With  pack  aboard  and  Socky  on  a 
blanket  in  the  bow,  Gordon  pushed  his  canoe 
into  the  current. 

All  who  journeyed  to  the  Lost  River  country 
from  the  neighborhood  of  Hillsborough  arrived 
at  Tupper's  late  in  the  afternoon.  There,  gen 
erally,  they  took  canoe  and  paddled  six  miles 
to  a  log  inn  at  the  head  of  the  still  water.  But 
as  Gordon  started  from  Tupper's  Mill  down 
stream  he  had  in  mind  a  destination  not  on  any 
map  of  this  world.  Socky  sat  facing  him,  a  little 
hand  on  either  gunwale. 

Socky  had  thought  often  that  day  of  the  in 
cident  of  the  night  before  and  of  his  father's 
poverty.  Now  he  looked  him  over  from  head 
to  foot.  He  saw  the  little  steel  chain  fastened 
to  his  father's  waistcoat  and  leading  into  the 
pocket  where  he  knew  that  his  own  watch  lay 
hidden.  The  look  of  it  gave  him  a  feeling  of 
great  virtue  and  satisfaction. 

"  Father,  will  you  please  tell  me  what  time  it 
is?"  he  inquired. 

Gordon  removed  the  watch  from  his  pocket. 
"Half-past  six.     We've  got  to  push  on." 
3  25 


Silas    Strong 

It  was  fine  to  see  that  watch  in  his  father's 
hand. 

"I'm  going  to  give  it  to  you,"  said  the  boy, 
soberly.  "You  can  wear  it  Sundays  an'  every 
day." 

Gordon  looked  into  the  eyes  of  his  son.  He 
saw  there  the  white  soul  of  the  little  traveller 
just  entering  upon  the  world. 

"I'm  going  to  buy  you  some  new  clothes,  too," 
said  Socky,  now  overflowing  with  generosity, 

"Where  '11  you  get  the  money?" 

"From  my  Uncle  Silas."  After  a  few  mo 
ments  Socky  added,  "If  I  was  Lizzie  Cornell's 
father  I'd  give  her  a  good  whipping." 

They  rode  in  silence  awhile,  and  soon  the 
boy  lay  back  on  his  blanket  looking  up  at  the 
sky. 

"Father,"  said  he,  presently. 

"What?" 

"I'm  good  to  you,  ain't  I?" 

"Very." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  and  then  the 
boy  added,  "I  love  you." 

Those  words  gave  the  man  a  new  sense  of 
comfort.  If  he  could  have  done  so  he  would 
have  embraced  his  son  and  covered  his  face 
with  kisses. 

26 


Silas   Strong 

The  sun  had  sunk  low  and  they  were  entering 
the  edge  of  the  night  and  the  woodland.  Soon 
the  boy  fell  asleep.  The  silence  of  the  illimitable 
sky  seemed  to  be  flooding  down  and  delightful 
sounds  were  drifting  on  its  current.  They  had 
passed  the  inn  long  ago  and  walls  of  fir  and  pine 
were  on  either  side  of  them.  Gordon  put  into  a 
deep  cove,  stopping  under  the  pine-trees  with  his 
bow  on  a  sand-bar.  Then  he  let  himself  down, 
stretching  his  legs  on  the  canoe  bottom  and  lying 
back  on  his  blanket. 

For  a  long  time  he  lay  there  thinking.  He 
had  been  a  man  of  some  refinement,  and  nature 
had  punished  him,  after  an  old  fashion,  for  the 
abuse  of  it  with  extreme  sensitiveness.  He  had 
come  to  the  Adirondacks  from  a  New  England 
city  and  married  and  gone  into  business.  At 
first  he  had  prospered,  and  then  he  had  begun 
to  go  down. 

He  had  been  a  lover  of  music  and  a  reader  of 
the  poets.  As  he  lay  thinking  in  the  early  dusk 
he  heard  the  notes  of  the  wood-thrush.  That 
bird  was  like  a  welcoming  trumpeter  before  the 
gate  of  a  palace ;  it  bade  him  be  at  home.  Above 
all  he  could  hear  the  water  song  of  Fiddler's  Falls 
— the  tremulous,  organ  bass  of  rock  caverns  upon 
which  the  river  drummed  as  it  fell,  the  chorus  of 

27 

OP 


I    UNIVERSITY  ) 


Silas   Strong 

the  on -rushing  stream  and  great  overtones  in  the 
timber. 

Sound  and  rhythm  seemed  to  be  full  of  that 
familiar  strain — so  like  a  solemn  warning  : 


A  long  time  he  sat  hearing  it.  He  began  to 
feel  ashamed  of  his  folly  and  awakened  to  the 
inspiration  of  a  new  purpose.  He  rose  and 
looked  about  him. 

When  you  enter  a  house  you  begin  to  feel  the 
heart  of  its  owner.  Something  in  the  walls  and 
furnishings,  something  in  the  air — is  it  a  vibra 
tion  which  dead  things  have  gathered  from  the 
living? — bids  you  welcome  or  warns  you  to  de 
part.  It  is  the  true  voice  of  the  master.  As 
Gordon  came  into  the  wilderness  he  felt  like  one 
returning  to  his  father's  house.  In  this  great 
castle  the  heart  of  its  Master  seemed  to  speak  to 
him  with  a  tenderness  fatherly  and  unmistak 
able. 

28 


Silas    Strong 

A  subtle  force  like  that  we  find  in  houses  built 
with  hands  now  bade  him  welcome.  "  Lie  down 
and  rest,  my  son,"  it  seemed  to  say.  "Let  not 
your  heart  be  troubled.  Here  in  your  Father's 
house  are  forgiveness  and  plenty." 

He  put  away  the  thought  of  death.  He  cov 
ered  the  sleeping  boy  and  girl,  pushed  his  canoe 
forward  upon  the  sand,  and  lying  back  comfort 
ably  soon  fell  asleep. 

He  awoke  refreshed  at  sunrise.  The  great, 
green  fountain  of  life,  in  the  midst  of  which  he 
had  rested,  now  seemed  to  fill  his  heart  with  its 
uplifting  joy  and  energy  and  persistence. 

He  built  a  fire  under  the  trees  and  broiled  the 
meat  and  made  toast  and  coffee.  He  lifted  the 
children  in  his  arms  and  kissed  them  with  un 
usual  tenderness. 

"To-day  we'll  see  Uncle  Silas,"  Gordon  as 
sured  them. 

"My  Uncle  Silas!"  said  the  boy,  fondly. 

"He's  mine,  too,"  Sue  declared. 

"He's  both  of  our'n,"  Socky  allowed,  as  they 
began  to  eat  their  breakfast. 


IV 

ILAS  STRONG,  or  "Panther  Sile," 
as  the  hunters  called  him,  spent 
every  winter  in  the  little  forest 
hamlet  of  Pitkin  and  every  sum 
mer  in  the  woods. 

To  Sile,  St.  Lawrence  County  was  the  world, 
and  game,  wood,  and  huckleberries  the  fulness 
thereof ;  all  beyond  was  like  the  reaches  of  space 
unexplored  and  mysterious.  God  was  only  a 
word — one  may  almost  say — and  mostly  part  of 
a  compound  adjective;  hell  was  Ogdensburg,  to 
which  he  had  once  journeyed ;  and  the  devil  was 
Colonel  Jedson.  This  latter  opinion,  it  should  be 
said,  grew  out  of  an  hour  in  which  the  Colonel 
had  bullied  him  in  the  witness-chair,  and  not  to 
any  lasting  resemblance. 

As  to  Ogdensburg  itself,  the  hunter  had  based 
his  judgment  upon  evidence  which,  to  say  the 
least,  was  inconclusive.  When  Sile  and  the 
city  first  met,  they  regarded  each  other  with  ex 
treme  curiosity.  A  famous  hunter,  as  he  moved 

3° 


Silas    Strong 

along  the  street  with  rifle,  pack,  and  panther-skin, 
Sile  was  trying  to  see  everything,  and  everything 
seemed  to  be  trying  to  see  Sile.  The  city  was 
amused  while  the  watchful  eye  of  Silas  grew 
weary  and  his  bosom  filled  with  distrust.  One 
tipsy  man  offered  him  a  jack-knife  as  a  com 
pliment  to  the  length  of  his  nose,  and  before  he 
could  escape  a  new  acquaintance  had  wrong 
fully  borrowed  his  watch.  His  conclusions  re 
garding  the  city  were  now  fully  formed.  He 
broke  with  it  suddenly,  and  struck  out  across 
country  and  tramped  sixty  miles  without  a  rest. 
Ever  after  the  thought  of  Ogdensburg  revived 
memories  of  confusion,  headache,  and  irrepara 
ble  loss.  So,  it  is  said,  when  he  heard  the  min 
ister  describing  hell  one  Sunday  at  the  little 
school- house  in  Pitkin,  he  had  no  doubt  either 
of  its  existence  or  its  location. 

All  this,  however,  relates  to  antecedent  years  of 
our  history — years  which  may  not  be  wholly  neg 
lected  if  one  is  to  understand  what  follows  them. 

After  the  death  of  his  sister — the  late  Mrs. 
Gordon — Strong  began  to  read  his  Bible  and  to 
cut  his  trails  of  thought  further  and  further 
towards  his  final  destination.  A  deeper  rever 
ence  and  a  more  correct  notion  of  the  devil  re 
warded  his  labor. 


Silas   Strong 

It  must  be  added  that  his  meditations  led 
him  to  one  remarkable  conclusion — namely,  that 
all  women  were  angels.  His  parents  had  left 
him  nothing  save  a  maiden  sister  named  Cyn 
thia,  and  characterized  by  some  as  "a  reg'lar 
human  panther." 

"  Wherever  Sile  is  they's  panthers,"  said  a 
guide  once,  in  the  little  store  at  Pitkin. 

11  Don't  make  no  difer'nce  whuther  he's  t' 
home  er  in  the  woods,"  said  another,  solemnly. 

That  was  when  God  owned  the  wilderness 
and  kept  there  a  goodly  number  of  his  big  cats, 
four  of  which  had  fallen  before  the  rifle  of 
Strong. 

Cynthia,  in  his  view,  had  a  special  sanctity, 
but  there  was  another  woman  whom  he  regarded 
with  great  tenderness  —  a  cheery -faced  maiden 
lady  of  his  own  age  and  of  the  name  of  Annette. 

To  Silas  she  was  always  Lady  Ann.  He  gave 
her  this  title  without  any  thought  or  knowledge 
of  foreign  customs.  "Miss  Roice"  would  have 
been  too  formal,  and  "Ann  "  or  "  Annette  "  would 
have  been  too  familiar.  "Lady  Ann"  seemed 
to  have  the  proper  ring  of  respect,  familiarity, 
and  distinction.  In  his  view  a  "lady"  was,  a 
creature  as  near  perfection  as  anything  could  be 
in  this  world. 

32 


Silas    Strong 

When  a  girl  of  eighteen  she  had  taught  in  the 
log  school-house.  Since  the  death  of  her  mother 
the  care  of  the  little  home  had  fallen  upon  her. 
She  was  a  well-fed,  cheerful,  and  comely  creature 
with  a  genius  for  housekeeping. 

June  had  come,  and  Silas  was  getting  ready  to 
go  into  camp.  There  was  no  longer  any  peace 
for  him  in  the  clearing.  The  odor  of  the  forest 
and  the  sight  of  the  new  leaves  gave  him  no  rest. 
Had  he  not  heard  in  his  dreams  the  splash  of 
leaping  trout,  and  deer  playing  in  the  lily-pads  ? 
In  the  midst  of  his  preparations,  although  a 
silent  man,  the  tumult  of  joy  in  his  breast  came 
pouring  out  in  the  whistled  refrain  of  "  Yankee 
Doodle."  It  was  a  general  and  not  a  special 
sense  of  satisfaction  which  caused  him  to  shake 
with  laughter  now  and  then  as  he  made  his  way 
along  the  rough  road.  Sometimes  he  rubbed  his 
long  nose  thoughtfully. 

A  nature-loving  publisher,  who  often  visited 
his  camp,  had  printed  some  cards  for  him.  They 
bore  these  modest  words : 

S.  STRONG 

GUIDE    AND    CONTRIVER 

He  was  able  in  either  capacity,  but  his  great 
gift  lay  in  tongue  control — in  his  management 

33 


Silas   Strong 

of  silence.  He  was  what  they  called  in  that 
country  "a  one-word  man."  The  phrase  in 
dicated  that  he  was  wont  to  express  himself  with 
all  possible  brevity.  He  never  used  more  than 
one  word  if  that  could  be  made  to  satisfy  the 
demands  of  politeness  and  perspicacity.  Even 
though  provocation  might  lift  his  feeling  to  high 
degrees  of  intensity,  and  well  beyond  the  pale 
of  Christian  sentiment,  he  was  never  profuse. 

His  oaths  would  often  hiss  and  hang  fire  a 
little,  but  they  were  in  the  end  as  brief  and  em 
phatic  as  the  crack  of  a  rifle.  This  trait  of 
brevity  was  due,  in  some  degree,  to  the  fact  that 
he  stammered  slightly,  especially  in  moments  of 
excitement,  but  more  to  his  life  in  the  silence 
of  the  deep  woods. 

Silas  Strong  had  filled  his  great  pack  at  the 
store  and  was  nearing  his  winter  home — a  rude 
log-house  in  the  little  forest  hamlet.  He  let  the 
basket  down  from  his  broad  back  to  the  door 
step.  His  sister  Cynthia,  small,  slim,  stern- 
faced,  black-eyed,  heart  and  fancy  free,  stood 
looking  down  at  him. 

"Wai,  what  now?"  she  demanded,  in  a  voice 
not  unlike  that  of  a  pea-hen. 

"T'-t'-morrer,"  he  stammered,  in  a  loud  and 
cheerful  tone. 

34 


Silas   Strong 

"What  time  to-morrer?" 

"D-daylight." 

"  I  knew  it,"  she  snapped,  sinking  into  a  chair, 
the  broom  in  her  hands,  and  a  woful  look  upon 
her.  "You've  got  t'  hankerin'." 

Silas  said  nothing,  but  entered  the  house  and 
took  a  drink  of  water.  Cynthia  snapped : 

"  If  I  wanted  t'  marry  Net  Roice  I'd  marry  'er 
an'  not  be  dilly-dallyin'  all  my  life." 

Cynthia  was  now  fifty  years  of  age,  and  re 
garded  with  a  stern  eye  every  act  of  man  which 
bore  any  suggestion  of  dilly-dallying. 

"Ain't  g-good  'nough,"  he  stammered,  calmly. 

"You're  fool  'nough,"  she  declared,  with  a 
twang  of  ill-nature. 

"S-supper,  Mis'  Strong,"  said  he,  stirring  the 
fire. 

Whenever  his  sister  indulged  in  language  of 
unusual  loudness  and  severity  he  was  wont  to 
address  her  in  a  gentle  tone  as  "Mis'  Strong" — • 
the  only  kind  of  retaliation  to  which  he  resorted. 
He  shortened  the  "Miss"  a  little,  so  that  his 
words  might  almost  be  recorded  as  "  Mi'  Strong." 
In  those  rare  and  cheerful  moments  when  her 
mood  was  more  in  harmony  with  his  own  he 
called  her  "Sinth"  for  short.  In  his  letters, 
which  were  few,  he  had  addressed  her  as  "  deer 

35 


Silas    Strong 

smth."  She  was,  therefore,  a  compound  person, 
consisting  of  a  severe  and  dissenting  character 
called  "Mis'  Strong,"  and  a  woman  of  few 
words  and  a  look  of  sickliness  and  resigna 
tion  who  answered  to  the  pseudonyme  of 
"Sinth." 

Born  and  brought  up  in  the  forest,  there  was 
much  in  Silas  and  Cynthia  that  suggested  the 
wild  growth  of  the  woodland.  Their  sister — 
the  late  Mrs.  Gordon — had  beauty  and  a  head 
for  books.  She  had  gone  to  town  and  worked 
for  her  board  and  spent  a  year  in  the  academy. 
Silas  and  Cynthia,  on  the  other  hand,  were 
without  beauty  or  learning  or  refinement,  nor 
had  they  much  understanding  of  the  laws  of 
earth  or  heaven,  save  what  nature  had  taught 
them;  but  the  devotion  of  this  man  to  that 
querulous  little  wild  -  cat  of  a  sister  was  re 
markable.  She  was  to  him  a  sacred  heritage. 
For  love  of  her  he  had  carried  with  him  these 
ten  years  a  burden,  as  it  were,  of  suppressed 
and  yearning  affection.  Silas  Strong  alone  might 
even  have  been  "good  enough,"  in  his  own  esti 
mation,  but  he  accepted  "  Mis'  Strong"  as  a  kind 
of  flaw  in  his  own  character. 

Every  June  he  went  to  his  camp  at  Lost  River, 
taking  Sinth  to  cook  for  him,  and  returning  in 

36 


Silas   Strong 

the  early  winter.     Next  day,  at  sunrise,  they 
were  to  start  for  the  woods. 

To-day  he  helped  to  get  supper,  and,  having 
wiped  the  dishes,  put  on  his  best  suit,  his  fine 
boots,  his  new  felt  hat,  and  walked  a  mile  to  the 
little  farm  of  Uncle  Ben  Roice.  He  carried  with 
him  a  gray  squirrel  in  a  cage,  and,  as  he  walked, 
sang  in  a  low  voice : 

"  All  for  the  love  of  a  charmin'  creature, 
All  for  the  love  of  a  lady  fair." 

It  was  like  any  one  of  a  thousand  visits  he  had 
made  there.  Annette  met  him  at  the  door. 

"  Why,  of  all  things !"  said  she.  "  What  have 
you  here?" 

"C'ris'mus  p-present,  Lady  Ann,"  said  he. 

It  should  be  said  that  with  Silas  a  gift  was  a 
"Christmas  present"  every  day  in  the  year — • 
the  cheerful  spirit  of  that  time  being  always  with 
him. 

He  proudly  put  the  cage  in  her  hands. 

"Much  obliged  to  you,  Sile,"  said  she,  laugh 
ing.  , 

"  S-Strong's  ahead!"  he  stammered,  cheerfully. 

This  indicated  that  in  his  fight  with  the 
powers  of  evil  Strong  felt  as  if  he  had  at  least 

37 


Silas   Strong 

temporary  advantage.  When,  perhaps,  after  a 
moment  of  anger  it  seemed  that  the  Evil  One 
had  got  the  upper  hold  on  him,  he  was  wont  to 
exclaim,  ''Satan's  ahead!"  But  the  historian 
is  glad  to  say  that  those  occasions  were,  in  the 
main,  rare  and  painful. 

"  Strong  will  never  give  in,"  said  Annette,  with 
laughter. 

Strong's  affection  was  expressed  only  in  signs 
and  tokens.  Of  the  former  there  were  his  care 
ful  preparation  for  each  visit,  and  many  sighs 
and  blushes,  and  now  and  then  a  tender  glance 
of  the  eye.  Of  tokens  there  had  been  many— 
a  tame  fox,  ten  mink-skins,  a  fawn,  a  young 
thrush,  a  pancake-turner  carved  out  of  wood, 
and  other  important  trifles.  For  twenty  years 
he  had  been  coming,  but  never  a  word  of  love 
had  passed  between  them. 

Silas  sat  in  a  strong  wooden  chair.  Under  the 
sky  he  never  thought  of  his  six  feet  and  two 
inches  of  bone  and  muscle ;  now  it  seemed  to  fill 
his  consciousness  and  the  little  room  in  which 
he  sat.  To-day  and  generally  he  leaned  against 
the  wall,  a  knee  in  his  hands  as  if  to  keep  him 
self  in  proper  restraint. 

"Did  you  just  come  to  bring  me  that  squir 
rel?"  Annette  inquired. 

38 


Silas   Strong 

"No,"  he  answered. 

"What  then?" 

"Squirrel  come  t'  b-bring  me." 

"Silas  Strong!"  she  exclaimed,  playfully, 
amazed  by  his  frankness. 

He  put  his  big  hand  over  his  face  and  enjoyed 
half  a  minute  of  silent  laughter. 

"Silas  Strong!"  she  repeated. 

"Present,"  said  he,  as  if  answering  the  call 
of  the  roll,  and  sobering  as  he  uncovered  his 
face. 

In  conversation  Silas  had  a  way  of  partly 
closing  one  eye  while  the  other  opened  wide 
beneath  a  lifted  brow.  The  one  word  of  the 
Emperor  was  inadequate.  He  was,  indeed,  pres 
ent,  but  he  was  extremely  happy  also,  a  con 
dition  which  should  have  been  freely  acknowl 
edged.  It  must  be  said,  however,  that  his  feat 
ures  made  up  in  some  degree  for  the  idleness 
of  his  tongue.  He  brushed  them  with  a  down 
ward  movement  of  his  hand,  as  if  to  remove  all 
traces  of  levity  and  prepare  them  for  their  part 
in  serious  conversation. 

"All  w-well?"  he  inquired,  soberly. 

"Eat  our  allowance,"  said  she,  sitting  near 
him.  "How's  Miss  Strong?" 

"S-supple!"  he  answered.  Then  he  ran  his 
39 


Silas    Strong 

fingers  through  his  blond  hair  and  soberly  ex 
claimed,  "  Weasels !" 

This  remark  indicated  that  weasels  had  been 
killing  the  poultry  and  applying  stimulation  to 
the  tongue  of  Miss  Strong.  Silas  had  sent  her 
fowls  away  to  market  the  day  before. 

"Too  bad!"  was  the  remark  of  Lady  Ann. 

"Fisht?"  By  this  word  Silas  meant  to  in 
quire  if  she  had  been  fishing. 

"Yesterday.  Over  at  the  falls — caught  ten," 
said  she,  getting  busy  with  her  knitting. 

"B-big?" 

"Three  that  long,"  she  answered,  measuring 
with  her  thread. 

He  gave  a  loud  whistle  of  surprise,  thought 
a  moment,  and  exclaimed,  "M-mountaneyous!" 
He  used  this  word  when  contemplating  in  imag 
ination  news  of  a  large  and  important  character. 

" How  have  you  been?" 

"Stout,"  he  answered,  drawing  in  his  breath. 

Annette  rose  and  seemed  to  go  in  search  of 
something.  The  kindly  gray  eyes  of  Silas  Strong 
followed  her.  A  smile  lighted  up  his  face.  It 
was  a  very  plain  face,  but  there  was  yet  some 
thing  fine  about  it,  something  which  invited 
confidence  and  respect.  The  Lady  Ann  entered 
her  own  room,  and  soon  returned. 

40 


Silas    Strong 

"Shut  yer  eyes,"  said  she. 

"Whatf-for?" 

"  Chris 'mas  present." 

Silas  obeyed,  and  she  thrust  three  pairs  of  socks 
into  his  coat-pocket.  With  a  smile  he  drew  them 
out.  Then  a  partly  smothered  laugh  burst  from 
his  lips,  and  he  held  his  hand  before  his  face  and 
shook  with  good  feeling. 

"S-socks!"  he  exclaimed. 

"There  are  two  parts  of  a  man  which  always 
ought  to  be  kep'  warm — his  heart  an'  his  feet," 
said  she. 

Silas  whacked  his  knee  with  his  palm  and 
laughed  heartily,  his  wide  eye  aglow  with  merri 
ment.  His  expression  quickly  turned  serious. 

"B-bears  plenty!"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  felt 
of  the  socks  and  looked  them  over.  This  re 
mark  indicated  that  a  season  of  unusual  happi 
ness  and  prosperity  had  arrived. 

Worked  in  white  yarn  at  the  top  of  each  leg 
were  the  words,  "Remember  me." 

"T-till  d-death,"  he  whispered. 

"With  me  on  your  mind  an'  them  on  your 
feet  you  ought  to  be  happy,"  said  Annette. 

"An'  w-warm,"  he  answered,  soberly. 

Presently  she  read  aloud  to  him  from  the  St. 
Lawrence  Republican. 

4  4I 


Silas    Strong 

"S-some  day,"  said  Silas,  when  at  last  he  had 
risen  to  go. 

"Some  day,"  she  repeated,  with  a  smile. 

The  only  sort  of  engagement  between  them 
lay  in  the  two  words  " some  day."  They  served 
as  an  avowal  of  love  and  intention.  Amplified, 
as  it  were,  by  look  and  tone  as  well  as  by  the 
pressure  of  the  hand  -  clasp,  they  were  under 
stood  of  both. 

To-day  as  Annette  returned  the  assurance  she 
playfully  patted  his  cheek,  a  rare  token  of  her 
approval. 

Silas  left  her  at  the  door  and  made  his  way 
down  the  dark  road.  He  began  to  give  himself 
some  highly  pleasing  assurances. 

"S-some  day — tall  t-talkin',"  he  stammered, 
in  a  whisper,  and  then  he  began  to  laugh  silently. 

"Patted  my  cheek!"  he  whispered.  Then  he 
laughed  again. 

At  the  store  he  had  filled  his  pack  with  flour, 
ham,  butter,  and  like  provisions  for  Lost  River 
camp.  At  Annette's  he  had  filled  his  heart  with 
renewed  hope  and  happiness  and  was  now  pre 
pared  for  the  summer.  While  he  walked  along 
he  fell  to  speculating  as  to  whether  Annette 
could  live  under  the  same  roof  with  Cynthia. 
A  hundred  times  he  had  considered  whether 

42 


Silas    Strong 

he  could  ask  her,  and  as  usual  he  concluded, 
"Ca-can't." 

The  hunter  had  an  old  memorandum-book 
which  was  a  kind  of  storehouse  for  thought, 
hope,  and  reflection.  Therein  he  seemed  always 
to  regard  himself  objectively  and  spoke  of  Strong 
as  if  he  were  quite  another  person.  Before  going 
to  bed  that  evening  he  made  these  entries : 

"  June  the  23.     Strong  is  all  mellered  up. 
4 'Snags." 

With  him  the  word  "meller"  meant  to  soften, 
and  sometimes,  even,  to  conquer  with  the  club. 

The  word  "  snags"  undoubtedly  bore  reference 
to  the  difficulties  that  beset  his  way. 


IILAS  and  his  sister  ate  their  break 
fast  by  candle-light  and  were  off 
on  the  trail  before  sunrise,  a  small, 
yellow  dog  of  t,Jie  name  of  Zeb 
following.  Zeb  was  a  bear -dog 
with  a  cross-eye  and  a  serious  countenance.  He 
was,  in  the  main,  a  brave  but  a  prudent  animal. 
One  day  he  attacked  a  bear,  which  had  been 
stunned  by  a  bullet,  and  before  he  could  dodge 
the  bear  struck  him  knocking  an  eye  out. 
Strong  had  put  it  back,  and  since  that  day  his 
dog  had  borne  a  cross-eye. 

Zeb  had  a  sense  of  dignity  highly  becoming 
in  a  creature  of  his  attainments.  This  morning, 
however,  he  scampered  up  and  down  the  trail, 
whining  with  great  joy  and  leaping  to  lick  the 
hand  of  his  master.  "Sinth"  walked  spryly,  a 
little  curt  in  her  manner,  but  passive  and  re 
signed.  Silas  carried  a  heavy  pack,  a  coon  in  a 
big  cage,  and  led  a  fox.  When  he  came  to  soft 
places  he  set  the  cage  down  and  tethered  the 

44 


Silas  Strong 

fox,  and,  taking  Sinth  in  his  arms,  carried  her  as 
one  would  carry  a  baby.  Having  gained  better 
footing,  he  would  let  Sinth  down  upon  a  log 
or  a  mossy  rock  to  rest  and  return  for  his 
treasures.  After  two  or  three  hours  of  trav 
el  the  complaining  "Mis'  Strong"  would  ap 
pear. 

"  Seems  so  ye  take  pleasure  wearin'  me  out 
on  these  here  trails,"  she  would  say.  "Why 
don't  ye  walk  a  little  faster?" 

"W-whoa!"  he  would  answer,  cheerfully. 
"Roughlocks!" 

The  roughlock,  it  should  be  explained,  was  a 
form  of  brake  used  by  log-haulers  to  check  their 
bobs  on  a  steep  hill.  In  the  conversation  of 
Silas  it  was  a  cautionary  signal  meaning  hold 
up  and  proceed  carefully. 

"You  don't  care  if  you  do  kill  me — gallopin' 
through  the  woods  here  jes'  like  a  houn'  after  a 
fox.  I  won't  walk  another  step  —  not  another 
step." 

"Rur  -  roughlocks!"  he  commanded  himself, 
as  he  tied  the  fox  and  set  the  coon  down. 

"Won't  ride  either,"  she  would  declare,  with 
emphasis. 

"W-wings  on,  Mis'  Strong?"  Silas  had  been 
known  to  ask,  in  a  tone  of  great  gentleness. 

45 


Silas   Strong 

She  would  be  apt  to  answer,  "  If  I  had  wings, 
I'd  see  the  last  o'  you." 

Then  a  little  time  of  rest  and  silence,  after 
which  the  big,  gentle  hunter  would  shoulder  his 
pack  and  lift  in  his  arms  the  slender  and  com 
plaining  Miss  Strong  and  carry  her  up  the  long 
grade  of  Bear  Mountain.  Then  he  would  make 
her  comfortable  and  return  for  his  pets. 

That  day,  having  gone  back  for  the  fox  and 
the  coon,  he  concluded  to  try  the  experiment 
of  putting  them  together.  Before  then  he  had 
given  the  matter  a  good  deal  of  thought,  for  if 
the  two  were  in  a  single  package,  as  it  were, 
the  problem  of  transportation  would  be  greatly 
simplified.  He  could  fasten  the  coon  cage  on 
the  top  of  his  pack,  and  so  avoid  doubling  the 
trail.  He  led  the  fox  and  carried  the  coon  to 
the  point  where  Sinth  awaited  him.  Then  he 
removed  the  chain  from  the  fox's  collar,  care 
fully  opened  the  cage,  and  thrust  him  in.  The 
swift  effort  of  both  animals  to  find  quarter  near 
ly  overturned  the  cage.  Spits  and  growls  of 
warning  followed  one  another  in  quick  succes 
sion.  Then  each  animal  braced  himself  against 
an  end  of  the  cage,  indulging,  as  it  would  seem, 
in  continuous  complaint  and  recrimination. 

"Y-you  behave!"  said  Silas,  warningly,  as  he 
46 


Silas   Strong 

put  the  cage  on  top  of  his  basket  and  fastened  a 
stout  cord  from  bars  to  buckles. 

" They '11  fight!"  Sinth  exclaimed. 

"Let  'em  f-fight,"  said  Silas,  who  had  sat 
down  before  his  pack  and  adjusted  the  shoulder- 
straps. 

The  growling  increased  as  he  rose  carefully  to 
his  feet,  and  with  a  swift  movement  coon  and 
fox  exchanged  positions.  Sinth  descended  the 
long  hill  afoot,  and  Silas  went  on  cautiously,  a 
low,  continuous  murmur  of  hostile  sound  rising 
in  the  air  behind  him.  Each  animal  seemed  to 
think  it  necessary  to  remind  the  other  with 
every  breath  he  took  that  he  was  prepared  to 
defend  himself.  Their  enmity  was,  it  would 
appear,  deep  and  racial. 

At  Cedar  Swamp,  in  the  flat  below,  the  big 
hunter  took  Sinth  in  his  arms.  Then  the  sound 
of  menace  and  complaint  rose  before  and  behind 
him.  Slowly  he  proceeded,  his  feet  sinking  deep 
in  the  wet  moss.  Stepping  on  hummocks  in  a 
dead  creek,  he  slipped  and  fell.  The  little  ani 
mals  were  flung  about  like  shot  in  a  bottle. 
Each  seemed  to  hold  the  other  responsible  for 
his  discomfiture.  They  came  together  in  deadly 
conflict.  The  sounds  in  the  cage  resembled  an 
explosion  of  fire -crackers  under  a  pan.  Sinth 

47 


Silas    Strong 

lifted  her  voice  in  a  loud  outcry  of  distress  and 
accusation.  Without  a  word  the  hunter  scram 
bled  to  his  feet,  renewed  his  hold  upon  the  com 
plaining  Sinth,  and  set  out  for  dry  land.  Luckily 
the  mud  was  not  above  his  boot-tops.  The  cage 
creaked  and  hurtled.  The  animals  rolled  from 
side  to  side  in  their  noisy  encounter.  The  in 
dignant  Sinth  struggled  to  get  free  with  loud, 
hysteric  cries.  Strong  ran  beneath  his  burden. 
He  gained  the  dry  trail,  and  set  his  sister  upon 
the  ground.  He  flung  off  the  shoulder-straps, 
and  with  a  stick  separated  the  animals.  He 
opened  the  cage  and  seized  the  fox  by  the  nape 
of  the  neck,  and,  before  he  could  haul  him  forth, 
got  a  nip  on  the  back  of  his  hand.  He  lifted 
the  spitting  fox  and  fastened  the  chain  upon  his 
collar.  Then  Silas  put  his  hands  on  his  hips 
and  blew  like  a  frightened  deer. 

"  Hell's  b-bein'  raised, "he  muttered,  as  if  taking 
counsel  with  himself  against  Satan.  "  C-careful !" 

He  was  in  a  mood  between  amusement  and 
anger,  but  was  dangerously  near  the  latter. 

A  little  profanity,  felt  but  not  expressed, 
warmed  his  spirit,  so  that  he  kicked  the  coon's 
cage  and  tumbled  it  bottom  side  up.  In  a 
moment  he  recovered  self-control,  righted  the 
cage,  and  whispered,  "  S-Satan's  ahead!" 

48 


Silas    Strong 

The  wound  upon  his  hand  was  bleeding,  but 
he  seemed  not  to  mind  it. 

Having  done  his  best  for  the  comfort  of  his 
sister,  he  brushed  the  mud  from  his  boots  and 
trousers,  filled  his  pipe,  and  sat  meditating  in  a 
cloud  of  tobacco-smoke.  Presently  he  rose  and 
shouldered  his  pack  and  untied  the  fox  and 
lifted  the  coon  cage. 

"I'll  walk  if  it  kills  me!"  Sinth  exclaimed, 
rising  with  a  sigh  of  utter  recklessness. 

"  T-'tain't  fur,"  said  Strong,  as  they  renewed 
their  journey. 

It  was  past  mid-day  when  they  got  to  camp, 
and  Sinth  lay  down  to  rest  while  he  fried  some 
ham  and  boiled  the  potatoes  and  made  tea  and 
flapjacks  by  an  open  fire. 

When  he  sat  on  his  heels  and  held  his  pan  over 
the  fire,  the  long  woodsman  used  to  shut  up,  as 
one  might  say,  somewhat  in  the  fashion  of  a 
jack-knife.  He  was  wont  to  call  it  "settin'  on 
his  hunches."  His  great  left  hand  served  for 
a  movable  screen  to  protect  his  face  from  the 
heat.  As  the  odor  and  sound  of  the  frying  rose 
about  him,  his  features  took  on  a  look  of  great 
benevolence.  It  was  a  good  part  of  the  meal 
to  hear  him  announce,  "Di-dinner,"  in  a  tender 
and  cheerful  tone.  As  he  spoke  it  the  word 

49 


Silas  Strong 

was  one  of  great  capacity  for  suggestion.  When 
the  sound  of  it  rose  and  lingered  on  its  final  r, 
that  day  they  arrived  at  Lost  River  camp,  Sinth 
awoke  and  came  out-of-doors. 

''Strong's  g-gainin'!"  he  exclaimed,  cheer 
fully,  meaning  thereby  to  indicate  that  he  hoped 
soon  to  overtake  his  enemy. 

The  table  of  bark,  fastened  to  spruce  poles, 
each  end  lying  in  a  crotch,  had  been  covered 
with  a  mat  of  ferns  and  with  clean,  white  dishes. 
Silas  began  to  convey  the  food  from  fire  to  table. 
To  his  delight  he  observed  that  ''Mis'  Strong" 
had  gone  into  retirement.  The  face  of  his  sister 
now  wore  its  better  look  of  sickliness  and  resig 
nation. 

"Opeydildock?"  he  inquired,  tenderly,  pour 
ing  from  a  flask  into  a  cup. 

"No,  sir,"  she  answered,  curtly,  her  tone  add 
ing  a  rebuke  to  her  negative  answer. 

"Le's  s-set,"  said  he,  soberly. 

They  sat  and  ate  their  dinner,  after  which 
Silas  went  back  on  the  trail  to  cut  and  bring 
wood  for  the  camp  -  fire.  When  his  job  was 
finished,  the  rooms  were  put  to  rights,  the  stove 
was  hot  and  clean,  and  an  excellent  supper 
waiting. 

Strong's  camp  consisted  of  three  little  log- 
So 


Silas   Strong 

cabins  and  a  large  cook- tent.  The  end  of  each 
cabin  was  a  rude  fireplace  built  of  flat  rocks  en 
closed  by  upright  logs  which,  lined  with  sheet- 
iron,  towered  above  the  roof  for  a  chimney. 
Each  floor  an  odd  mosaic  of  wooden  blocks, 
each  wall  sheathed  with  redolent  strips  of  cedar, 
each  rude  divan  bottomed  with  deer-skin  and 
covered  with  balsam  pillows,  each  bedstead  of 
peeled  spruce  neatly  cut  and  joined — the  whole 
represented  years  of  labor.  Every  winter  Silas 
had  come  through  the  woods  on  a  big  sled  with 
"new  improvements"  for  camp.  Now  there 
were  spring-beds  and  ticks  filled  with  husks  in 
the  cabins,  a  stove  and  all  needed  accessories 
in  the  cook-tent. 

Ever  since  he  could  carry  a  gun  Silas  had  set 
his  traps  and  hunted  along  the  valley  of  Lost 
River,  ranging  over  the  wild  country  miles  from 
either  shore.  Twenty  thousand  acres  of  the 
wilderness,  round  about,  had  belonged  to  Smith 
&  Gordon,  who  gave  him  permission  to  build 
his  camp.  When  he  built,  timber  and  land  had 
little  value.  Under  the  great,  green  roof  from 
Bear  Mountain  to  Four  Ponds,  from  the  Ra- 
quette  to  the  Oswegatchie,  one  might  have  en 
joyed  the  free  hospitality  of  God. 

From  a  time  he  could  not  remember,  this 
5* 


Silas    Strong 

great  domain  had  been  the  home  of  Silas  Strong. 
He  loved  it,  and  a  sense  of  proprietorship  had 
grown  within  him.  Therein  he  had  need  only 
of  matches,  a  blanket,  and  a  rifle.  One  might 
have  led  him  blindfolded,  in  the  darkest  night, 
to  any  part  of  it  and  soon  he  would  have  got  his 
bearings.  In  many  places  the  very  soles  of  his 
feet  would  have  told  him  where  he  stood. 

Long  ago  its  owners  had  given  him  charge  of 
this  great  tract.  He  had  forbidden  the  hound 
ing  of  deer  and  all  kinds  of  greedy  slaughter,  and 
had  made  campers  careful  with  fire.  Soon  he 
came  to  be  called  "The  Emperor  of  the  Woods," 
and  every  hunter  respected  his  laws. 

Slowly  steam-power  broke  through  the  hills 
and  approached  the  ramparts  of  the  Emperor. 
This  power  was  like  one  of  the  many  hands  of 
the  republic  gathering  for  its  need.  It  started 
wheels  and  shafts  and  bore  day  and  night  upon 
them.  Now  the  song  of  doom  sounded  in  far 
corridors  of  the  great  sylvan  home  of  Silas 
Strong. 

It  was  only  a  short  walk  to  where  the  dead 
hills  lay  sprinkled  over  with  ashes,  their  rock 
bones  bleaching  in  the  sun  beneath  columns  of 
charred  timber.  The  spruce  and  pine  had  gone 
with  the  ever-flowing  stream,  and  their  dead 

52 


Silas    Strong 

tops  had  been  left  to  dry  and  burn  with  un 
quenchable  fury  at  the  touch  of  fire,  and  to  de 
stroy  everything,  root  and  branch,  and  the 
earth  out  of  which  it  grew. 

It  concerned  him  much  to  note,  everywhere, 
signs  of  a  change  in  proprietorship.  In  Strong's 
youth  one  felt,  from  end  to  end  of  the  forest, 
this  invitation  of  its  ancient  owner,  "  Come  all 
ye  that  are  weary  and  heavy  laden,  and  I  will 
give  you  rest."  Now  one  saw  much  of  this 
legend  in  the  forest  ways,  "All  persons  are 
forbidden  trespassing  on  this  property  under 
penalty  of  the  law."  Proprietorship  had,  seem 
ingly,  passed  from  God  to  man.  The  land  was 
worth  now  thirty  dollars  an  acre.  Silas  had 
established  his  camp  when  the  boundaries  were 
indefinite  and  the  old  banners  of  welcome  on 
every  trail,  and  he  felt  the  change. 


VI 


T  was  near  sunset  of  the  second 
day  after  the  arrival  of  Sinth  and 
Silas.  They  sat  together  in  front 
of  the  cook-tent.  Silas  leaned  for 
ward  smoking  a  pipe.  His  great,' 
brawny  arms,  bare  to  the  elbow,  rested  on  his 
knees.  His  faded  felt  hat  was  tilted  back.  He 
was  looking  down  at  the  long  stretch  of  still 
water,  fringed  with  lily-pads,  and  reflecting  the 
colors  of  either  shore. 

"You  'ain't  got  a  cent  to  yer  name,"  said 
Sinth,  who  was  knitting.  She  gave  the  yarn  a 
pull,  and,  as  she  did  so,  glanced  up  at  her 
brother. 

"B-better  times!"  said  he,  rubbing  his  hands. 
"Better   times!"   she   sneered.     "I'd   like  to 
know  how  you  can  make  money  an'  charge  a 
dollar  a  day  for  board." 

Sportsmen  visiting  there  paid  for  their  board, 
and  they  with  whom  Silas  went  gave  him  three 
dollars  a  day  for  his  labor. 

54 


Silas    Strong 

The  truth  was  that  prosperity  and  Miss  Strong 
were  things  irreconcilable.  The  representatives 
of  prosperity  who  came  to  Lost  River  camp 
were  often  routed  by  the  eye  of  resentment  and 
the  unruly  tongue.  Strong  knew  all  this,  but 
she  was  not  the  less  sacred  on  that  account. 
This  year  he  had  planned  to  bring  a  cow  to  camp 
and  raise  the  price  of  board. 

"You  s-see,"  Strong  insisted. 

"Huh!"  Sinth  went  on;  "we'll  mos'  kill  our 
selves,  an'  nex'  spring  we  won't  have  nothin' 
but  a  lot  o'  mink-skins." 

Miss  Strong,  as  if  this  reflection  had  quite 
overcome  her,  gathered  up  her  knitting  and 
hastened  into  the  cook -tent,  where  for  a  mo 
ment  she  seemed  to  be  venting  her  spite  on  the 
flat-irons  and  the  tea-kettle.  Strong  sat  alone, 
smoking  thoughtfully.  Soon  he  heard  footsteps 
on  the  trail.  A  stranger,  approaching,  bade  him 
good-evening. 

"From  the  Migley  Lumber  Company,"  the 
stranger  began,  as  he  gave  a  card  to  Strong. 
"We  have  bought  the  Smith  &  Gordon  tract. 
I  have  come  to  bring  this  letter  and  have  a  talk 
with  you." 

Strong  read  the  letter  carefully.  Then  he 
rose  and  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and,  with 

55 


Silas   Strong 

a  sly  wink  at  the  stranger,  walked  slowly  down 
the  trail.  He  wished  to  go  where  Sinth  would 
not  be  able  to  hear  them.  Some  twenty  rods 
away  both  sat  down  upon  a  log.  The  letter 
was,  in  effect,  an  order  of  eviction. 

"I  got  t'  g-go?"  the  Emperor  inquired. 

"  That's  about  the  size  of  it,"  said  the  stranger. 

"Can't,"  Strong  answered. 

"Well,  there's  no  hurry,"  said  the  other. 
"We  shall  be  cutting  here  in  the  fall.  I  won't 
disturb  you  this  year." 

Silas  rose  and  stood  erect  before  the  lumber 
man. 

"Cut  e very th- thing?"  he  inquired,  his  hand 
sweeping  outward  in  a  gesture  of  peculiar  elo 
quence. 

"Everything  from  Round  Ridge  to  Carter's 
Plain,"  said  the  other. 

Strong  deliberately  took  off  his  jacket  and 
laid  it  on  a  stump.  He  flung  his  hat  upon 
the  ground.  Evidently  something  unusual  was 
about  to  happen.  Then,  forthwith,  he  broke 
the  silence  of  more  than  forty  years  and  opened 
his  heart  to  the  stranger.  He  could  not  control 
himself;  his  tongue  almost  forgot  its  infirmity; 
his  words  came  faster  and  easier  as  he  went  on. 

"N-no,  no,"  he  said,  "it  can't  be.  Ye  'ain't 
56 


Silas    Strong 

no  r-right  t'  do  it,  fer  ye  can't  never  put  the 
w-woods  back  agin.  My  God,  sir,  I've  w-wan- 
dered  over  these  hills  an'  flats  ever  since  I  was  a 
little  b-boy.  There  ain't  a  critter  on  'em  that 
d-don't  know  me.  Seems  so  they  was  all  my 
b-brothers.  I've  seen  men  come  in  here  nigh 
dead  an'  go  back  w-well.  They  's  m-med'cine 
here  t'  cure  all  the  sickness  in  a  hunderd  cities; 
they  's  f-fur  'nough  here  t'  c-cover  their  naked — 
they  's  f-food  'nough  t'  feed  their  hungry — an' 
they  's  w-wood  'nough  t'  keep  'em  w-warm.  God 
planted  these  w-woods  an'  stocked  'em,  an'  no 
body's  ever  d-done  a  day's  work  here  'cept  me. 
Now  you  come  along  an'  say  you've  bought  'em 
an'  are  g-goin'  t'  shove  us  out.  I  c-can't  under 
stand  it.  God  m-made  the  sky  an'  1-lifted  up 
the  trees  t'  sweep  the  dust  out  of  it  an'  pump 
water  into  the  clouds  an'  g-give  out  the  breath 
o'  the  g-ground.  Y-you  'ain't  no  right  t'  git  to 
gether  down  there  in  Albany  an'  make  laws  ag'in' 
the  will  o'  God.  Ye  r-rob  the  world  when  ye  take 
the  tree -tops  out  o'  the  sky.  Ye  might  as  well 
take  the  clouds  out  of  it.  God  has  gi'n  us  g-good 
air  an'  the  woods  an'  the  w-wild  cattle,  an'  it's 
free — an'  you — you're  g-goin'  t'  turn  ev'rybody 
out  o'  here  an'  seize  the  g-gift  an'  trade  it  fer 

d-dollars — you  d little  bullcook!" 

5  57 


Silas    Strong 

A  "bullcook,"  it  should  be  explained,  was 
the  chore-boy  in  a  lumber-camp. 

Strong  sat  down  and  took  out  an  old  red  hand 
kerchief  and  wiped  his  eyes. 

He  was  thinking  of  the  springs  and  brooks  and 
rivers,  of  the  cool  shade,  of  the  odors  of  the 
woodland,  of  the  life-giving  air,  of  the  desola 
tion  that  was  to  come. 

"It's  business,"  said  the  stranger,  as  if  that 
word  must  put  an  end  to  all  argument. 

A  sound  broke  the  silence  like  that  of  distant 
thunder. 

"Hear  th-that,"  Strong  went  on.  "It's  the 
logs  g-goin'  over  Rainbow  Falls.  They've  been 
stole  off  the  state  1-lands.  Th-that's  business, 
too.  Business  is  king  o'  this  c-country.  He 
t-takes  everything  he  can  1-lay  his  hands  on. 
He'd  t-try  t'  grab  heaven  if  he  could  g-git  over 
the  f-fence  an'  b-back  agin." 

"I  am  not  here  to  discuss  that,"  said  the 
stranger,  rising  to  go. 

"Had  s-supper?"  Silas  asked. 

"I've  a  lunch  in  the  canoe,  thank  you.     The  < 
moon  is  up,  an'  I'm  going  to  push  on  to  Cop 
per  Falls.     Migley  will  be  waiting  for  me.     We 
shall  camp  there  for  a  day  or  two  at  Cedar 
Spring.     Good-night." 

58 


Silas   Strong 

"Good-night." 

It  was  growing  dark.  Strong's  outbreak  had 
wearied  him.  He  groaned  and  shook  his  head 
and  stood  a  moment  thinking.  In  the  distance 
he  could  hear  the  hoot  of  an  owl  and  the  bull 
bass  of  frogs  booming  over  the  still  water. 

"G-gone!"  he  exclaimed,  presently.  Soon  he 
added,  in  a  mournful  tone,  "  W-wouldn't  d-dast 
tell  Mis'  Strong." 

He  started  slowrly  towards  the  camp. 

"I'll  1-lie  to  her,"  he  whispered,  as  he  went 
along. 

Before  going  to  bed  he  made  this  note  in  his 
memorandum -book : 

"  June  the  26  More  snags  Strong  says  trubel  is  like 
small  pox  thing  to  do  is  kepe  it  from  spreadin." 


VII 


INCE  early  May  there  had  been 
no  rain  save  a  sprinkle  now  and 
then.  From  Lake  Ontario  to  Lake 
Champlain,  from  the  St.  Lawrence 
to  Sandy  Hook,  the  earth  had  been 
scorching  under  a  hot  sun.  The  heat  and  dust 
of  midsummer  had  dimmed  the  glory  of  June. 

People  those  days  were  thinking  less  of  the 
timber  of  the  woods  and  more  of  their  abundant, 
cool,  and  living  green.  The  inns  along  the  edge 
of  the  forest  were  filling  up. 

About  eleven  o'clock  of  a  morning  late  in 
June,  a  young  man  arrived  at  Lost  River  camp 
— one  Robert  Master,  whose  father  owned  a  camp 
and  some  forty  thousand  acres  not  quite  a  day's 
tramp  to  the  north.  He  was  a  big,  handsome 
youth  of  twenty-two,  just  out  of  college.  Sinth 
regarded  every  new-comer  as  a  natural  enemy. 
She  suspected  most  men  of  laziness  and  a  ca 
pacity  for  the  oppression  of  females.  She  stood 
in  severe  silence  at  the  door  of  the  cook-tent  and 

60 


Silas    Strong 

looked  him  over  as  he  came.  Soon  she  went 
to  the  stove  and  began  to  move  the  griddles. 
Silas  entered  with  an  armful  of  wood. 

"If  he  thinks  I'm  goin'  to  wait  on  him  hand 
an'  foot,  he's  very  much  mistaken,"  said 
Sinth. 

"R-roughlocks!"  Silas  answered,  calmly,  as  he 
put  a  stick  on  the  fire. 

Sinth  made  no  reply,  but  began  sullenly 
rushing  to  and  fro  with  pots  and  pans.  Soon 
her  quick  knife  had  taken  the  jackets  off  a 
score  of  potatoes.  While  her  hands  flew,  water 
leaped  on  the  potatoes,  and  the  potatoes  tum 
bled  into  the  pot,  and  the  pot  jumped  into  the 
stove-hole  as  the  griddle  took  a  slide  across  the 
top  of  the  stove.  And  so  with  a  rush  of  feet 
and  a  rattle  of  pots  and  pans  and  a  sliding  of 
griddles  and  a  banging  of  iron  doors  ''Mis' 
Strong"  wore  off  her  temper  at  hard  work. 

The  Emperor  used  to  smile  at  this  variety  of 
noise  and  call  it  "f-f -female  profanity,"  a  phrase 
not  wholly  inapt.  When  the  "sport"  had  fin 
ished  his  dinner,  and  she  and  her  brother  sat 
side  by  side  at  the  table,  she  was  plain  Sinth 
again,  with  a  look  of  sickliness  and  resignation. 
She  ate  freely — but  would  never  confess  her 
appetite — and  so  leisurely  that  Strong  often  had 

61 


Silas    Strong 

most  of  the  dishes  washed  before  she  had  fin 
ished  eating. 

The  young  man  was  eager  to  begin  fishing, 
and  soon  after  dinner  the  Emperor  took  him 
over  to  Catamount  Pond.  On  their  way  the 
young  man  spoke  of  the  object  of  his  visit. 

"Mr.  Strong,  you  know  my  father?"  he  half 
inquired. 

"Ay-ah,"  the  Emperor  answered. 

"He's  been  a  property-holder  in  this  county 
for  five  years,  every  summer  of  which  I  have 
spent  on  his  land.  I  feel  at  home  in  the  woods, 
and  I  cast  my  first  vote  at  Tifton." 

Strong  listened  thoughtfully. 

"  I  want  to  do  what  I  can  to  save  the  wilder 
ness,"  young  Master  went  on. 

"R-right!"  said  the  Emperor. 

"  If  I  were  in  the  Legislature,  I  believe  I  could 
accomplish  something.  Anyhow,  I  am  going  to 
make  a  fight  for  the  vacant  seat  in  the  Assem 
bly." 

Strong  surveyed  him  from  head  to  foot. 

"  I  wish  you  would  do  what  you  can  for  me  in 
Pitkin." 

"Uh-huh!"  Strong  answered,  in  a  gentle  tone, 
without  opening  his  lips.  It  was  a  way  he  had 
of  expressing  uncertainty  leaning  towards  af- 

62 


. 

fuN I VERS1TY  ) 

OF          s 

Silas    Strong 

firmation.  He  liked  the  young  man;  there  was, 
indeed,  something  grateful  to  him  in  the  look 
and  voice  of  a  gentleman. 

"  You'll  never  be  ashamed  of  me — I'll  see  to 
that,"  said  Master. 

Having  reached  the  little  pond,  Strong  gave 
him  his  boat,  and  promised  to  return  and  bring 
him  into  camp  at  six.  Here  and  there  trout 
were  breaking  through  the  smooth  plane  of 
water. 

The  Emperor  took  a  bee-line  over  the  wood 
ed  ridge  to  Robin  Lake.  There  he  spent  an 
hour  repairing  his  bark  shanty  and  gathering 
balsam  boughs  for  a  bed.  Stepping  on  a  layer 
of  spruce  poles  over  which  the  boughs  were  to 
be  spread,  in  a  dark  corner  of  the  shanty,  his 
foot  went  through  and  came  down  upon  the 
nest  of  one  of  the  most  disagreeable  creatures 
in  the  wilderness.  He  sprang  away  with  an 
oath  and  fled  into  the  open  air.  For  a  moment 
he  expressed  himself  in  a  series  of  sharp  reports, 
Then,  picking  up  a  long  pole,  he  met  the  offend 
ers  leaving  their  retreat,  and  "mellered"  them, 
as  he  explained  to  Sinth  that  evening. 

"T-take  that,  Amos,"  he  muttered,  as  he 
gave  one  of  them  another  blow. 

It  should  be  borne  in  mind  that  he  called 

63 


Silas    Strong 

every  member  of  this  malodorous  tribe  "  Amos," 
because  the  meanest  man  he  ever  knew  had 
borne  that  name. 

He  put  his  heel  in  the  crotch  of  a  fallen  limb 
and  drew  his  boot.  Then  he  cautiously  cut  off 
the  leg  of  his  trousers  at  the  knee,  and,  poking 
cloth  and  leather  into  a  little  hollow,  buried 
them  under  black  earth. 

Slowly  the  "Emperor  of  the  Woods"  climbed 
a  ridge  on  his  way  to  Lost  River  camp,  one  leg 
bare  to  the  knee.  Walking,  he  thought  of  An 
nette.  Lately  misfortune  had  come  between 
them,  and  now  he  seemed  to  be  getting  farther 
from  the  trail  of  happiness. 

At  a  point  on  Balsam  Hill  he  came  into  the 
main  thoroughfare  of  the  woodsmen  which  leads 
from  Bear  Mountain  to  Lost  River  camp.  Where 
he  could  see  far  down  the  big  trail,  under  arches 
of  evergreen,  he  sat  on  a  stump  to  rest.  His 
bootless  foot,  now  getting  sore,  rested  on  a  giant 
toadstool. 

Thus  enthroned,  the  Emperor  looked  down  at 
his  foot  and  reconsidered  the  relative  positions 
of  himself  and  the  Evil  One.  His  faded  crown 
of  felt  tilting  over  one  ear,  his  rough,  bearded 
face  wet  with  perspiration,  his  patched  trousers 
truncated  over  the  right  knee,  below  which  foot 


Silas    Strong 

and  leg  were  uncovered,  he  was  an  emperor 
more  distinguished  for  his  appearance  than  his 
lineage. 

He  took  out  his  old  memorandum-book  and 
made  this  note  in  it  with  a  stub  of  a  pencil: 

"  June  the  27  Strong  says  one  Amos  in  the  bush  is 
worth  two  in  yer  company  an  a  pair  of  britches." 

The  Emperor,  although  in  the  main  a  serious 
character,  enjoyed  some  private  fun  with  this 
worn  little  book,  which  he  always  carried  with 
him.  Therein  he  did  most  of  his  talking,  with 
secret  self  -  applause  now  and  then,  one  may 
fancy.  It  has  thrown  some  light  on  the  inner 
life  of  the  man,  and,  in  a  sense,  it  is  one  of  the 
figures  of  our  history. 


VIII 


I  LAS  put  the  book  in  his  pocket 
and  looked  down  the  trail.  Some 
ten  rods  away  two  children  were 
running  towards  him,  their  hands 
full  of  wild  flowers.  They  were 
Socky  and  Sue,  on  their  way  to  Lost  River  camp, 
and  were  the  first  children — save  one — who  had 
ever  set  their  feet  on  the  old  trail.  Gordon 
walked  slowly,  under  a  heavy  pack,  well  behind 
them.  They  knew  they  were  near  their  destina 
tion.  Their  father  could  scarcely  keep  them  in 
hailing  distance. 

Sue  had  observed  that  Socky 's  generosity  in 
the  matter  of  the  tin  bank  had  pleased  her 
father,  and  so,  after  much  thought,  she  had 
determined  to  make  a  venture  in  benevolence. 
"When  I  see  Uncle  Silas,"  said  she,  "I'm 
going  to  give  him  the  twenty-five  cents  my 
Aunt  Marie  gave  me." 

"Pooh!  he's  got  loads  of  money,"  Socky  an 
swered. 

66 


Silas    Strong 

They  stopped  suddenly.  Sue  dropped  her 
flowers  and  turned  to  run.  Socky  gave  a  little 
jump  and  recovered  his  courage.  Both  re 
treated  a  few  steps.  There,  before  them,  was 
the  dejected  "  Emperor  of  the  Woods." 

"Says  I!"  he  exclaimed,  looking  down  calmly 
from  his  throne. 

Socky  glanced  up  at  him  fearfully. 

"Whob-beyou?" 

"John  Socksmith  Gordon." 

"T-y-ty!"  exclaimed  the  Emperor,  an  expres 
sion,  as  the  historian  believes,  of  great  sur 
prise,  standing,  perhaps,  for  the  old  oath 
"By  'Mighty."  It  consisted  of  the  pronuncia 
tion  of  the  two  letters  separately  and  then  to 
gether. 

The  Emperor  turned  to  the  girl.  "And 
y-yourn?"  he  inquired. 

"Susan  Bradbury  Gordon,"  she  answered,  in 
a  half-whisper. 

"I  tnum!"  exclaimed  the  Emperor,  shaking 
his  bootless  foot,  whereupon  the  new-comers 
retreated  a  little  farther.  The  singular  word 
"tnum"  expressed  an  unusual  degree  of  in 
terest  on  the  part  of  the  Emperor.  "G-goin' 
fur  ?"  he  inquired. 

"To  Lost  River,  to  see  my  Uncle  Silas." 
67 


Silas  Strong 

The  Emperor  gave  a  loud  whistle  of  surprise, 
and  repeated  the  exclamation — "I  tnum!" 

"My  father's  coming/'  said  Socky,  as  he 
pointed  down  the  trail. 

"Whee-o!"  whistled  the  "Emperor  of  the 
Woods,"  who  now  perceived  his  brother-in-law 
ascending  the  trail. 

"Old  man,  what  are  you  doing  there?"  Gor 
don  asked. 

"Thinkin'  out  some  th-t noughts,"  said  the 
Emperor,  soberly,  as  he  came  into  the  trail, 
limping  on  his  bare  foot,  and  shook  hands. 
There  were  greetings,  and  the  hunter  briefly 
apologized  for  his  bare  leg  and  explained  it. 

"Well,  how  are  you?"  Gordon  asked. 

"S-supple!"  Strong  answered,  cheerfully. 

The  children  got  behind  their  father,  peering 
from  either  side  of  him  as  they  saw  this  un 
couth  figure  coming  near.  Sue  pressed  the 
hand  of  her  brother  so  tightly  as  to  cause  the 
boy  to  break  her  hold  upon  him. 

"R-ride?"  said  the  Emperor,  putting  his 
great  hand  on  the  head  of  the  boy  and  shaking 
it  a  little.  Socky  looked  up  at  him  with  large, 
wondering,  timid  eyes.  Sue  hid  her  face  under 
the  coat-tails  of  her  father. 

"They'd  rather  walk;  come  on,"  said  Gordon. 
68 


Silas    Strong 

The  men  proceeded  slowly  over  the  hill  and 
down  into  the  valley  of  Lost  River.  The  chil 
dren  followed,  some  twenty  paces  behind,  whis 
pering  together.  They  were  still  in  happy  igno 
rance  of  the  identity  of  the  strange  man. 

"S-sold  out— eh?"  said  the  hunter. 

"Sold  out!  Sorry!  They're  going  to  shove 
a  railroad  in  here  and  begin  cutting." 

A  smothered  oath  broke  from  the  lips  of  the 
Emperor.  Gordon  came  near  to  him  and  whis 
pered  : 

"Sile,"  said  he,  "don't  swear  before  the  kids. 
I'm  bad  enough,  but  I've  always  been  careful 
about  that.  Going  to  leave  'em  here  if  you'll 
let  me." 

"  G-good — "  The  Emperor  stopped  short  and 
his  voice  fell  into  thoughtful  silence. 

As  they  came  in  sight  of  the  little  clearing 
and  the  tent  and  cabins  of  Lost  River  camp, 
Sue  and  Socky  ran  ahead  of  the  men. 

"I'm  in  trouble,"  Gordon  went  on.  "My  ac 
count  at  the  mill  is  overdrawn.  They've  pushed 
me  to  the  verge  of  madness.  I  must  have  a 
little  help. 

The  woodsman  stopped  and  put  his  hand  on 
the  shoulder  of  Gordon. 

"Been  f-foolish,  Dick?"  said  he,  kindly. 
69 


Silas  Strong 

"I'm  done  with  that.  I  want  to  begin  new. 
I  need  a  little  money  to  throw  to  the  wolves." 

"How  m-much?" 

"Four  hundred  dollars  would  do  me." 

Strong  beckoned  to  him. 

"C-come  to  my  goosepen,"  said  the  hunter, 
as  he  led  the  way  to  an  old  basswood  some  fifty 
paces  from  the  camp.  He  removed  a  piece  of 
bark  which  fitted  nicely  over  a  hole  in  the  tree- 
trunk.  He  put  his  hand  in  the  hole  which  he 
called  a  goosepen  and  took  out  a  roll  of  bills. 

"You  save  like  a  squirrel,"  said  Gordon. 

"Dunno  no  other  w-way,"  Strong  answered 
as  he  began  to  count  the  money.  Three  hun 
dred  an'  s-seventy  dollars,"  he  said,  presently, 
and  gave  it  to  his  brother-in-law.  He  felt  in 
the  hole  again.  "  B-bank's  failed!"  he  added. 

The  kindness  of  the  woodland  was  in  the  face 
of  the  hunter.  He  was  like  an  old  hickory  draw 
ing  its  nourishment  from  the  very  bosom  of  the 
earth  and  freely  giving  its  crop.  Where  he  fed 
there  was  plenty,  and  he  had  no  more  thought 
of  his  own  needs  than  a  tree.  < 

"Thank  vou'  It's  enough,"  said  Gordon. 
"  Better  keep  some  of  it." 

"N-no  good  here,"  Strong  answered,  with  his 
old  reliance  on  the  bounty  of  nature. 

70 


Silas   Strong 

"I'll  go  out  to  Pitkin  in  the  morning.  I'm 
going  to  get  a  new  start  in  the  world.  If  you'll 
take  care  of  the  children  I'll  send  you  some 
money  every  month.  You've  been  a  brother 
to  me,  and  I'll  not  forget." 

The  Emperor  sat  upon  a  log  and  took  a  pencil 
and  an  old  memorandum-book  from  his  pocket 
and  wrote  on  a  leaf  this  letter  to  Annette : 

"DEER  FREND  —  I  am  wel     compny  com  today  I 
dunno  when  I'll  see  you.     woods  is  hot  and  dry  fish 
plenty    Socks  on    feel  splendid    hopin  for  better  times 
"  yours  trewly 

"  S.  STRONG. 
"  P.  S.— Strong's  ahed." 

In  truth,  the  whole  purpose  of  the  letter  lay 
in  that  laconic  postscript,  expressing,  as  it  did, 
a  sense  of  moral  triumph  under  great  difficul 
ties. 

The  Emperor  stripped  a  piece  of  bark  off  a 
birch- tree,  trimmed  it  with  his  knife,  and,  en 
folding  it  around  the  letter,  bound  it  in  the  mid 
dle  with  a  long  thorn  which  he  drew  out  of  the 
lapel  of  his  "  jacket."  He  handed  the  missive  to 
Gordon,  saying,  "F-for  Ann  Roice." 

The  children  stood  peering  into  an  open  door 
when  the  men  came  and  flung  down  their  packs. 


Silas    Strong 

* 

Sinth  had  gone  to  work  in  the  garden,  which 
was  near  the  river-bank.  Silas  Strong  entered 
his  cabin.  The  children  came  to  their  father, 
who  had  seated  himself  on  a  chopping  -  block. 
Having  forgotten  the  real  Uncle  Silas,  they  had 
been  looking  for  that  splendid  creature  of  whom 
they  had  dreamed. 

"Father,"  Socky  whispered,  "where  is  Uncle 
Silas?" 

"That  was  Uncle  Silas,"  said  Gordon. 

The  eyes  of  the  children  were  fixed  upon  his, 
while  their  faces  began  to  change  color.  The 
long,  dark  lashes  of  little  Sue  quivered  for  a 
second  as  if  she  had  received  a  blow.  Socky 's 
glance  fell;  his  trembling  hands,  which  lay  on 
the  knee  of  Gordon,  seemed  to  clutch  at  each 
other;  then  his  right  thumb  stood  up  straight 
and  stiff;  his  lips  parted.  One  might  have 
observed  a  little  upward  twitch  of  the  muscles 
under  either  cheek.  It  signalized  the  first  touch 
of  bitter  disappointment. 

"That  man?"  he  whispered,  looking  up  doubt 
fully  as  he  pointed  in  the  direction  of  the  door 
into  which  Strong  had  disappeared. 

"That's  Uncle  Silas,"  said  Gordon,  with 
smiling  amusement. 

Socky  turned  and  spat  upon  the  ground. 
72 


Silas   Strong 

Slowly  he  walked  away,  scuffing  his  feet.  Sue 
followed  with  a  look  of  dejection.  They  went 
behind  the  camp  and  found  the  big  potato-hole 
and  crawled  into  it.  The  bottom  was  covered 
with  dry  leaves.  They  sat  down,  but  neither 
spoke.  Socky  leaned  forward,  his  chin  upon  his 
hands. 

"Do  you  like  Uncle  Silas?"  Sue  whispered. 

For  a  moment  Socky  did  not  change  his  atti 
tude  or  make  any  reply. 

"I  wouldn't  give  him  no  twenty-five  cents," 
Sue  added. 

"Don't  speak  to  me,"  Socky  answered,  with 
a  quick  movement  of  his  knee. 

It  was  a  time  of  sad  discovery — that  pathetic 
day  when  the  first  castle  of  childhood  falls  upon 
its  builder. 

"I'm  going  home,"  said  Sue. 

"  You  won't  be  let,"  Socky  answered,  his  under 
lip  trembling  as  he  thought  of  the  old  lumber 
yard. 

Suddenly  he  lay  over  on  the  leaves,  his  fore 
head  on  his  elbow,  and  wept  in  silence.  Sue  lay 
beside  him,  her  cheek  partly  covered  by  golden 
curls.  She  felt  badly,  but  did  not  give  way. 
They  were  both  utterly  weary  and  cast  down. 
Sue  lay  on  her  back  and  drew  out  her  tiny  doll 

6  73 


Silas   Strong 

much  as  a  man  would  light  a  cigarette  in  his 
moment  of  abstraction.  She  flirted  it  in  the  air 
and  brought  it  down  upon  her  breast.  The  doll 
had  come  out  of  her  pocket  just  in  time  to  save 
her.  She  lay  yawning  a  few  moments,  then 
fell  asleep,  and  soon  Socky  joined  her. 

Gordon  lay  down  upon  a  bed  in  one  of  the 
cabins.  He,  too,  was  weary  and  soon  forgot  his 
troubles.  The  Emperor,  having  shifted  his  gar 
ments,  went  behind  the  camp  and  stood  looking 
down  at  his  sorrowing  people.  A  smile  spread 
over  his  countenance.  It  came  and  passed  like 
a  billow  of  sunlight  flooding  over  the  hills.  He 
shook  his  head  with  amusement. 

Soon  he  turned  away  and  sauntered  slowly 
towards  the  river -bank.  These  children  had 
been  flung,  as  it  were,  upon  the  ruin  of  his  hopes. 
What  should  he  do  with  them  and  with  "Mis' 
Strong ' '  ?  Suddenly  a  reflection  of  unusual  mag 
nitude  broke  from  his  lips. 

"They's  g-got  t'  be  tall  contrivin',"  he  whis 
pered,  with  a  sigh. 

Sinth,  who  had  been  sowing  onions,  heard  him 
coming  and  rose  to  her  feet. 

"G-Gordon!"  said  he,  pointing  towards  camp. 

"Anybody  with  him?"  she  asked. 

"  The  childern,"  said  he.  "  G-goin'  t'  leave  'em." 
74 


Silas   Strong 

Sinth  turned  with  a  look  of  alarm. 

"C-can't  swear,  nuther,"  Strong  added. 

"He  can  take  'em  back,"  said  Miss  Strong, 
with  flashing  eyes  and  a  flirt  of  her  apron. 

"R-roughlocks!"  the  Emperor  demanded,  in 
a  low  tone. 

"Who'll  tek  care  of  'em?" 

"M-me." 

"Heavens!"  she  exclaimed,  her  voice  full  of 
despair. 

"C-come,  Mis'  Strong."  So  saying,  Silas  took 
the  arm  of  his  complaining  sister  and  led  her 
up  the  hill. 

When  he  had  come  to  the  potato-hole  he 
pointed  down  at  the  children.  They  had 
dressed  with  scrupulous  care  for  the  eye  of  him 
who,  not  an  hour  since,  had  been  the  greatest 
of  all  men.  The  boy  lay  in  his  only  wide,  white 
collar  and  necktie,  in  his  best  coat  and  knee- 
breeches.  The  girl  had  on  her  beloved  brown 
dress  and  pink  sun-bonnet.  It  was  a  picture 
to  fill  one's  eyes,  and  all  the  more  if  one  could 
have  seen  the  hearts  of  those  little  people.  A 
new  look  came  into  the  face  of  Sinth. 

"Land  sakes!"  she  exclaimed,  raising  one  of 
her  hands  and  letting  it  fall  again;  "she  looks 
like  Sister  Thankful— don't  she,  don't  she,  Silas  ?" 

75 


Silas   Strong 

Sinth  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  apron.  The 
heart  of  Silas  Strong  had  also  been  deeply 
touched. 

"R-reg'lar  angel!"  he  exclaimed,  thought 
fully.  After  a  moment  of  silence  he  added, 
"K-kind  o'  like  leetle  f-fawns." 

They  turned  away,  proceeding  to  the  cook- 
tent.  Sinth  looked  as  if  she  were  making  up 
her  mind;  Silas  as  if  his  were  already  made  up. 
Sinth  began  to  rattle  the  pots  and  pans. 

"Sh-h!"  Silas  hissed,  as  he  fixed  the  fire. 

" What's  the  matter?"  she  demanded. 

"W-wake  'em  up." 

"Hope  I  will,"  she  retorted,  loudly. 

Strong  strode  off  in  the  trail  to  Catamount 
Pond,  where  he  was  to  get  Master. 

Zeb,  the  bear-dog,  had  been  digging  at  a  fox 
hole  over  in  Birch  Hollow.  Growing  weary  and 
athirst,  by -and -by  he  relinquished  his  enter 
prise,  crossed  to  the  trail,  and,  discovering  the 
scent  of  strangers,  hurried  home.  Soon  he 
found  those  curious  little  folks  down  in  the 
potato  -  hole.  He  had  never  seen  a  child  be 
fore.  He  smelled  them  over  cautiously.  His 
opinion  was  extremely  favorable.  His  tail  be 
gan  to  wag,  and,  unable  to  restrain  his  en 
thusiasm,  he  expressed  himself  in  a  loud  bark. 

76 


Silas   Strong 

The  children  awoke,  and  Zeb  retreated.  Socky 
and  Sue  rose,  the  latter  crying,  while  that  little, 
yellow  snip  of  a  bear-dog,  with  cross-eye  and 
curving  tail,  surveyed  them  anxiously.  He 
backed  away  as  if  to  coax  them  out  of  the  hole. 
When  they  had  come  near  he  seemed  to  be 
wiping  one  foot  after  another  upon  the  ground 
vigorously.  As  he  did  so  he  growled  in  a  man 
ner  calculated  to  inspire  respect.  Then  he  ran 
around  them  in  a  wide  circle  at  high  speed, 
growling  a  playful  challenge.  Socky,  who  had 
some  understanding  of  dogs,  dashed  upon  Zeb, 
and  soon  they  were  all  at  play  together. 


IX 

N  Catamount  Pond  young  Master 
had  enjoyed  a  memorable  day. 
He  was  an  expert  fisherman,  but 
the  lonely  quiet  of  the  scene  had 
been  more  than  fish  to  him. 
Along  one  side  of  it  was  a  barren  ridge,  from 
the  top  of  which  a  broken  column  of  dead  pine, 
like  a  shaft  of  wrought  marble,  towered  straight 
and  high  above  the  woods.  The  curving  shore 
had  a  fringe  of  lily-pads,  starred  here  and  there 
with  white  tufts.  Around  thickets  of  birch, 
on  a  point  of  land,  a  little  cove  was  the  end  of 
all  the  deer  -  trails  that  came  out  of  Jiminy 
Swamp.  It  was  the  gateway  of  the  pond  for 
all  who  journeyed  thither  to  eat  and  drink. 
There  were  white  columns  on  either  side,  and 
opposite  the  cove's  end  was  a  thicket  of  tama 
rack,  clear  of  brush.  A  deep  mat  of  vivid  green 
moss  came  to  the  water's  edge.  When  one  had 
rounded  the  point  in  his  canoe,  he  could  see 
into  those  cool,  dark  alleys  of  the  deer,  leading 

78 


Silas   Strong 

off  through  slender  tamaracks.  A  little  beyond 
were  the  rock  bastions  of  Painter  Mountain, 
five  hundred  feet  above  the  water. 

The  young  man,  having  grown  weary  of  fish 
ing,  leaned  back,  lighted  his  pipe,  and  drifted. 
He  could  hear  the  chattering  of  a  hedgehog  up 
in  the  dry  timber,  and  the  scream  of  a  hawk, 
like  the  whistle  of  some  craft,  leagues  away  on 
the  sunlit  deep  of  silence.  A  wild  goose  steer 
ed  straight  across  the  heavens,  far  bound,  his 
wrings  making  a  noise  like  the  cleaving  of  water 
and  the  creak  of  full  sails.  He  saw  the  man 
below  him  and  flung  a  cry  overboard.  A  great 
bee,  driven  out  of  a  lily,  threw  his  warning  loop 
around  the  head  of  the  intruder  and  boomed 
out  of  hearing.  Those  threads  of  sound  seemed 
to  bind  the  tongue  of  the  youth,  and  to  connect 
his  soul  with  the  great  silence  into  which  they 
ran. 

Robert  Master  had  crossed  that  desert  of  un 
certainty  which  lies  between  college  and  the 
beginning  of  a  career.  At  last  he  had  made  his 
plan.  He  would  try  in  his  own  simple  way  to 
serve  his  country.  He  was  a  man  of  "the  new 
spirit,"  of  pure  ideals,  of  high  patriotism.  He 
had  set  out  to  try  to  make  his  way  in  politics. 

He  had  been  one  of  the  "bi-g  men,"  dauntless 
79 


Silas  Strong 

and  powerful,  who  had  saved  the  day  for  his 
alma  mater  more  than  once  on  the  track  and  the 
gridiron.  Handsome  was  a  word  which  had 
been  much  applied  to  him.  Hard  work  in  the 
open  air  had  given  him  a  sturdy  figure  and 
added  the  glow  of  health  and  power  to  a  face 
of  unusual  refinement.  It  was  the  face  of  a 
man  with  whom  the  capacity  for  stern  trials 
had  come  by  acquisition  and  not  by  inheritance. 
He  had  cheerful  brown  eyes  and  a  smile  of 
good  -  nature  that  made  him  beloved.  His 
father  was  at  the  big  camp,  some  twenty  miles 
away,  his  mother  and  sister  having  gone  abroad. 
He  and  his  father  were  fond  of  their  forest  home ; 
the  ladies  found  it  a  bore.  They  loved  better 
the  grand  life  and  the  great  highways  of  travel. 
Master  sat  in  the  centre  of  his  canoe;  an  el 
bow  rested  on  his  paddle  which  lay  athwart  the 
gunwales.  He  drifted  awhile.  He  had  chosen 
his  life  work  but  not  his  life  partner.  He  pict 
ured  to  himself  the  girl  he  would  love,  had  he 
ever  the  luck  to  find  her.  He  had  thrown  off 
his  hat,  and  his  dark  hair  shone  in  the  sunlight. 
Soon  he  pushed  slowly  down  the  pond.  In  a 
moment  he  stilled  his  paddle  and  sat  looking 
into  Birch  Cove.  Two  fawns  were  playing  in 
the  edge  of  the  water,  while  their  dam,  with  the 

80 


Silas   Strong 

dignity  of  a  matron,  stood  on  the  shore  looking 
down  at  them.  The  fawns  gambolled  in  the 
shallows  like  a  colt  at  play,  now  and  then  dash 
ing  their  muzzles  in  the  cool  water.  Their  red 
coats  were  starred  white  as  if  with  snow-flakes. 
The  deer  stood  a  moment  looking  at  Master, 
stamped  her  feet,  and  retired  into  one  of  the 
dark  alleys.  In  a  moment  her  fawns  followed. 

Turning,  the  fisherman  beheld  what  gave  him 
even  greater  surprise.  In  the  shadow  of  the 
birches,  on  a  side  of  the  cove  and  scarcely 
thirty  feet  from  his  canoe,  a  girl  sat  looking  at 
him.  She  wore  a  blue  knit  jacket  and  gray 
skirt.  There  was  nothing  on  her  head  save  its 
mass  of  light  hair  that  fell  curling  on  her 
shoulders.  Her  skin  was  brown  as  a  berry, 
her  features  of  a  noble  and  delicate  mould. 
Her  eyes,  blue  and  large,  made  their  potent  ap 
peal  to  the  heart  of  Master.  They  were  like 
those  of  his  dreams— he  could  never  forget  them. 
So  far  it's  the  old  story  of  love  at  sight — but 
listen.  For  half  a  moment  they  looked  into 
each  other's  eyes.  Then  the  girl,  as  if  she  were 
afraid  of  him,  rose  and  disappeared  among  the 
columns  of  white  birch. 

Long  he  sat  there  wondering  about  this  strange 
vision  of  girlhood,  until  he  heard  the  halloo  of 

81 


Silas  Strong 

Silas  Strong.     Turning  his  canoe,  he  pushed  for 
the  landing. 

"L-lucky?"  Strong  asked. 

"Twenty  fish,  and  I  saw  the  most  beautiful 
woman  in  the  world." 

"Where?" 

"Sitting  on  the  shore  of  Birch  Cove.  Any 
camp  near?" 

The  Emperor  shook  his  head  thoughtfully  as 
he  lighted  his  pipe.  The  two  made  their  way 
up  the  trail. 

"W- wonder  if  it's  her?"  Strong  whispered  to 
himself  as  he  walked  along. 

After  supper  that  evening  Silas  Strong  gath 
ered  a  heap  of  wood  for  a  bonfire — a  way  he 
had  of  celebrating  arrivals  at  Lost  River  camp. 
Soon  he  was  running  upon  hands  and  knees  in 
the  firelight,  with  Socky  and  Sue  on  his  back. 

"Silas  Strong!"  was  the  scornful  exclamation 
of  Sinth,  as  she  took  a  seat  by  the  fire. 

"P-present!"  he  answered,  as  he  went  on,  the 
children  laughing  merrily. 

" Be  you  a  man  or  a  fool?" 

"  Both,"  he  answered,  ceasing  his  harlequinade. 

Sinth  began  her  knitting,  wearing  a  look  of 
injury.  "Plumb  crazy  'bout  them  air  chil- 
dern!"  she  exclaimed. 

82 


Silas   Strong 

The  "  Emperor  of  the  Woods  "  sat  on  a  log, 
breathing  heavily,  with  Sue  and  Socky  upon 
his  knees. 

"B-bears  plenty,  Mis'  Strong,"  was  the  gen 
tle  reply  of  Silas. 

"  Mis'  Strong !"  said  she,  as  if  insulted.  "  What 
ye  Mis'  Strongin'  me  for?" 

When  others  were  present  she  was  wont  to 
fling  back  upon  him  this  burning  query.  Now 
it  seemed  to  stimulate  him  to  a  rather  unusual 
effort. 

"S-some  folks  b-better  when  ye  miss  'em," 
he  suggested,  with  a  smile  of  good- nature. 

Miss  Strong  gathered  up  her  knitting  and 
promptly  retired  from  the  scene.  Sue  and 
Socky  lay  back  on  the  lap  of  their  Uncle  Silas 
looking  into  the  fire.  They  now  saw  in  him 
great  possibilities.  Socky,  in  particular,  had 
begun  to  regard  him  as  likely  to  be  useful  if  not 
highly  magnificent. 

Sue  lay  back  and  began  to  make  a  drowsy 
display  of  her  learning: 

"  Intry,  mintry,  cutry  corn, 
Apple-seed  an'  a^ie^thorn.  'Jyu>&\ 
Wire,  brier,  limber  lock, 
Twelve  geese  all  in  a  white  flock; 
Some  fly  east  an'  some  fly  west 
An'  some  fly  over  the  cuckoo's  nest." 


Silas   Strong 

Miss  Strong  returned  shortly  and  found  the 
children  asleep  on  the  knees  of  their  uncle.  In  a 
moment  Silas  turned  his  ear  and  listened. 

"Hark!"  he  whispered. 

They  could  hear  some  one  approaching  on 
the  dark  trail.  A  man  oddly  picturesque,  with 
a  rifle  on  his  shoulder,  strode  into  the  firelight. 
He  wore  knee-breeches  and  a  coat  of  buckskin. 
He  had  a  rugged  face,  a  sturdy  figure,  and  was, 
one  would  have  guessed,  some  sixty  years  of 
age. 

A  fringe  of  thin,  white  hair  showed  below  his 
cap.  He  had  a  white  mustache,  through  which 
a  forgotten  cigar  protruded.  His  black  eyes 
glowed  in  the  firelight  beneath  silvered  brows. 
He  nodded  as  they  greeted  him.  His  ruddy  face 
^wrinkled  thoughtfully  as  he  turned  to  Gordon. 

"It's  a  long  time,"  said  he,  offering  his  hand. 

"Some  years,"  Gordon  answered,  as  he  took 
the  hand  of  Dunmore. 

"W-welcome!"  said  Silas  Strong. 

"Boneka!"  Dunmore  exclaimed,  gruffly,  but 
with  a  faint  smile.  For  years  it  had  been  his 
customary  word  of  greeting. 

"The  Emperor  and  his  court!"  he  went  on,  as 
he  looked  about  him.  "Who  are  these?"  He 
surveyed  the  sleeping  children. 

84 


Silas   Strong 

"The  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Hillsborough — 
nephew  and  niece  of  the  Emperor,"  Master  an 
swered,  giving  them  titles  which  clung  to  Socky 
and  Sue  for  a  twelvemonth. 

4 'The  first  children  I've  ever  seen  in  the 
woods  except  my  own,"  said  the  white-haired 
man. 

Zeb  ran  around  the  chair  of  the  Emperor, 
growling  and  leaping  playfully  at  Socky  and 
Sue. 

"The  court  jester!"  said  Dunmore,  looking 
down  at  the  dog. 

He  stood  a  moment  with  his  back  to  the  blaz 
ing  logs. 

Then  he  went  to  the  chair  of  the  Emperor, 
and  put  his  hand  under  the  chin  of  little  Sue 
and  looked  into  her  face.  In  half  a  moment  he 
took  her  in  his  arms  and  sat  down  by  the  fire 
side.  The  child  was  yawning  wearily. 

"Heigh-ho!"  he  exclaimed;  "let's  away  to  the 
Isles  of  Rest." 

He  rocked  back  and  forth  as  he  held  her 
against  his  breast  and  sang  this  lullaby: 

"  Jack  Tot  was  as  big  as  a  baby's  thumb, 
And  his  belly  could  hold  but  a  drop  and  a  crumb, 
And  a  wee  little  sailor  was  he — Heigh-ho! 
A  very  fine  sailor  was  he. 

8s 


Silas    Strong 

"  He  made  his  boat  of  a  cocoa-nut  shell, 
He  sails  her  at  night  and  he  steers  her  well 

With  the  wing  of  a  bumble-bee — Heigh-ho! 
.    With  the  wing  of  a  bumble-bee. 

"  She  is  rigged  with  the  hair  of  a  lady's  curl, 
And  her  lantern  is  made  of  a  gleaming  pearl, 

And  it  never  goes  out  in  a  gale — Heigh-ho! 
It  never  goes  out  in  a  gale. 

"  Her  mast  is  made  of  a  very  long  thorn, 
She  calls  her  crew  with  a  cricket's  horn, 

And  a  spider  spun  her  sail — Heigh-ho! 
A  spider  he  spun  her  sail. 

"  She  carries  a  cargo  of  baby  souls, 
And  she  crosses  the  terrible  nightmare  shoals 

On  her  way  to  the  Isles  of  Rest — Heigh-ho! 
We're  off  for  the  Isles  of  Rest. 

"  And  often  they  smile  as  the  good  ship  sails — 
Then  the  skipper  is  telling  incredible  tales 
With  many  a  merry  jest — Heigh-ho! 
He's  fond  of  a  merry  jest. 

"  When  the  little  folks  yawn  they  are  ready  to  go, 
And  Jack  Tot  is  lifting  his  sail — Hee-hoo! 

In  the  swell  how  the  little  folks  nod — He-hoo ! 
Just  see  how  the  little  folks  nod. 

"  And  some  have  sailed  off  when  the  sky  was  black, 
And  the  poor  little  sailors  have  never  come  back, 
But  have  steered  for  the  City  of  God — Heigh-ho ! 
The  beautiful  City  of  God!" 
86 


Silas    Strong 

The  white-haired  man  closed  his  eyes  and  his 
voice  sank  low,  and  the  last  words  fell  softly  in 
a  solemn  silence  that  lasted  for  a  long  moment 
after  the  lullaby  was  finished.  Presently  Sinth 
came  to  take  the  sleeping  child. 

"These  little  folks  will  take  our  peace  away 
from  us,"  said  he,  in  a  warning  tone. 

"Why?" 

"The  call  of  the  sown  land  is  in  their  voices," 
said  he.  "They  give  me  sad  thoughts." 

Sinth  smiled  and  introduced  the  young  man 
to  Dunmore. 

"Boneka!"  said  the  latter  as  they  shook 
hands. 

The  curiosity  of  Master  was  aroused  by  the 
strange  greeting.  He  smiled,  and  answered, 
modestly,  "I  don't  understand  you." 

The  stranger  sat  silent,  gazing  into  the  fire, 
until  Silas,  who  was  evidently  in  the  secret,  said 
to  his  guest,  "Tell  'em." 

"  There  was  once  a  very  wise  and  honored 
chief,"  began  Dunmore,  after  a  pause,  and  look 
ing  into  the  eyes  of  the  young  man.  "  Long  be 
fore  the  lumber  hunter  had  begun  to  shear  the 
hills,  he  dwelt  among  them,  with  his  good  people. 
He  was  a  great  law-giver,  and  his  law  was  all  in 
two  words — '  Be  kind . '  Kindness  begat  kindness , 

87 


Silas  Strong 

and  peace  reigned,  to  be  broken  only  by  some 
far-come  invader.  But  as  time  went  on  quarrels 
arose  and  the  law  was  forgotten.  Thereupon 
the  chief  invited  a  great  council  and  organized 
the  Society  of  the  Magic  Word.  Every  member 
promised  that  whenever  the  greeting  'Boneka' 
were  given  him,  he  would  smile  and  bow  and 
answer, '  Ranokoli. '  The  greeting  meant '  Peace, ' 
and  the  answer,  'I  forgive.' 

"Then,  one  by  one,  the  law-giver  called  his 
councillors  before  him,  and  to  each  he  said: 
'The  Great  Spirit  is  in  this  greeting.  I  defy 
you  to  hear  it  and  keep  a  sober  face.' 

"Then  he  said  'Boneka,'  and  the  man  would 
try  to  resist  the  influence  of  the  spirit,  but  soon 
smiled  in  spite  of  himself,  amid  the  laughter 
of  the  tribe,  and  said  'Ranokoli.'  Thereafter, 
when  a  quarrel  arose  between  two  people,  an  out 
sider,  approaching,  would  greet  them  with  the 
magic  word,  and  immediately  they  would  bow 
and  smile,  and  answer,  'I  forgive.'  But,  nev 
ertheless,  if  one  had  wronged  another  he  was 
justly  punished  by  the  chief.  So  it  was  that  a 
great  ruler  made  an  end  of  quarrels  among  his 
people." 

"A  grand  idea!"  said  young  Master.  "Let's 
all  join  that  society." 

88 


Silas    Strong 

"Those  in  favor  of  the  suggestion  will  please 
say  ay."  It  was  Dunmore  who  put  the  ques 
tion,  and,  after  a  vote  in  its  favor,  dictated  the 
pledge,  as  follows: 

*'  For  value  received  from  my  Loving  Father,  I  prom 
ise  to  give  to  any  of  His  children,  on  demand,  a  smile 
and  full  forgiveness." 

All  signed  it,  and  so  half  in  play  the  old  So 
ciety  of  the  Magic  Word  was  revived  at  Lost 
River  camp. 

The  white-haired  man  rose  and  walked  to  the 
trail  and  turned  suddenly. 

"Strong,"  said  he,  "  I'm  leaving  the  woods  for 
a  week.  If  they  need  your  help  at  home  they'll 
send  word  to  you." 

With  that  he  disappeared  in  the  dark  trail. 

The  three  other  men  still  sat  by  the  camp-fire. 

"Who  is  Dunmore?"  Master  inquired,  turning 
to  Gordon. 

The  latter  lighted  his  pipe  and  began  the 
story. 

"An  odd  man  who's  spent  the  most  of  his  life 
in  the  woods,"  said  Gordon.  "Came  in  here  for 
his  health  long  ago  from  I  don't  know  where; 
grew  strong,  and  has  always  stuck  to  the  woods. 
Had  to  work,  like  the  rest  of  us,  when  I  knew 
7  89 


Silas    Strong 

him.  Thirty  years  ago  he  began  work  in  this 
part  of  the  country  as  a  boom  rat — so  they  tell 
me.  It  was  on  a  big  drive  way  down  the  Os- 
wegatchie.  Before  we  bought  the  Bear  Moun 
tain  and  Lost  River  tracts  we  were  looking  for  a 
good  cruiser — some  one  to  go  through  here  and 
estimate  the  timber  for  us.  Well,  Dunmore  was 
recommended  for  the  job,  and  we  hired  him. 
He  and  I  travelled  over  some  thirty  thousand 
acres,  camping  wherever  night  overtook  us.  It 
did  not  take  me  long  to  discover  that  he  was  a 
gifted  man.  Many  an  evening,  as  we  sat  by 
our  lonely  fire  in  the  woods,  I  have  wept  and 
laughed  over  his  poems." 

"Poems!"  Master  exclaimed. 

"That's  the  only  word  for  it,"  Gordon  went 
on.  "The  man  is  a  woods  lover  and  a  poet. 
One  night  he  told  me  part  of  his  life  story.  Sile, 
you  remember  when  the  old  iron  company  shut 
down  their  works  at  Tifton.  Well,  everybody 
left  the  place  except  Tom  Muir,  the  postmaster. 
He  was  a  widower,  and  lived  with  one  child — a 
girl  about  nineteen  years  old  when  the  forest 
village  died.  Dunmore  married  that  girl.  He 
told  me  how  beautiful  she  was  and  how  he 
loved  her.  Well,  they  didn't  get  along  together. 
He  was  fond  of  the  woods  and  she  was  not. 

90 


Silas    Strong 

For  five  years  they  lived  together  in  the  edge  of 
the  wilderness.  Then  she  left  him.  Well — poor 
woman! — it  was  a  lonely  life,  and  some  tourist 
fell  in  love  with  her,  they  tell  me.  I  don't 
know  about  that.  Anyhow,  Dunmore  was  terri 
bly  embittered.  A  little  daughter  had  been  born 
to  them.  She  was  then  three  years  of  age." 

"She's  the  angel  y-you  met  to-day  over  by 
the  p-pond,"  Strong  put  in,  looking  at  Master. 

Gordon  lighted  his  pipe  and  went  on  with  his 
story. 

"  Dunmore  said  that  a  relative  had  left  him  a 
little  money.  I  remember  we  were  camping 
that  night  on  the  shore  of  Buckhorn.  Its  beauty 
appealed  to  him.  He  said  he'd  like  to  buy  that 
section  and  build  him  a  camp  on  the  pond  and 
spend  the  rest  of  his  life  there. 

"'But,'  said  I,  'you  couldn't  bring  up  your 
daughter  in  the  woods.'  Buckhorn  was  then 
thirty  miles  from  anywhere. 

"'That's  just  what  I  wish  to  do,'  he  answer 
ed.  '  The  world  is  so  full  of  d d  spaniels ' — I 

remember  that  was  the  phrase  he  used — 'and 
there's  so  much  infamy  among  men,  I'd  rather 
keep  her  out  of  it.  I  want  her  to  be  as  pure  at 
twenty  as  she  is  now.  I  can  teach  her  all  I 
wish  her  to  know.' 

91 


Silas    Strong 

"Well,  I  sold  him  the  Buckhorn  tract.  He 
built  his  camp,  and  moved  there  with  the  little 
girl  and  his  mother — a  woman  of  poor  health 
and  well  past  middle  age.  He  brought  an  old 
colored  man  and  his  wife  to  be  their  servants, 
and  there  they  are  to-day — Dunmore  and  his 
mother  and  the  girl  and  the  two  servants,  now 
grown  rather  aged,  they  tell  me." 

"They  have  never  left  the  woods?"  said  Mas 
ter,  as  if  it  were  too  incredible. 

"  Dunmore  goes  to  New  York,  but  not  oftener 
than  once  a  year,"  Gordon  went  on.  "He  has 
property — a  good  deal  of  property,  I  suppose, 
and  has  to  give  it  some  attention.  The  others 
have  never  left  the  woods." 

"  Sends  home  b-big  boxes,  an*  I  t-tote  'em  in," 
Silas  explained. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  Dunmore 's 
daughter  has  never  seen  the  clearing  since  she 
was  a  baby?" 

Strong's  interest  was  thoroughly  aroused. 
He  took  ofl  his  coat  and  laid  it  down  carefully, 
as  if  he  were  about  to  go  in  swimming.  He 
was  wont  to  do  this  when  his  thoughts  demand 
ed  free  and  full  expression. 

"  B-been  t'  Tillbury  post-office  w-with  the  ol* 
man — n-no  further,"  Strong  explained,  "Dun- 

92 


Silas    Strong 

more  says  she  'ain't  never  s-seen  a  child  'cept 
one.  That  was  a  b-baby.  Some  man  an'  his 
w-wife  come  through  here  w-with  it  from  the 
n-north  th-three  year  ago." 

"Fact  is,  I  think  he  feared  for  a  long  time 
that  his  wife  would  try  to  get  possession  of  the 
child,"  said  Gordon.  "Late  years,  I  under 
stand,  the  girl  has  had  to  take  care  of  the  old 
lady.  In  a  letter  to  me  once  Dunmore  referred 
to  his  daughter  as  the  'little  nun  of  the  green 
veil,'  and  spoke  of  her  devotion  to  her  grand 
mother." 

Gordon  rose  and  went  to  his  bed  in  one  of  the 
cabins.  Strong  and  the  young  man  kept  their 
seats  at  the  camp-fire,  talking  of  Dunmore  and 
his  daughter  and  their  life  in  the  woods.  The 
Emperor,  who  felt  for  this  lonely  child  of  the 
forest,  talked  from  a  sense  of  duty. 

"S~sail  in,"  he  presently  said.  "S-sail  in  an' 
t-tame  her." 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  begin." 

"She'll  be  there  t-to-morrer  sure,"  Strong  de 
clared. 

"So  shall  I,"  said  the  young  man. 

"C-cal'late  she's  w-wownded,  too,"  Strong 
suggested.  "  B-be  careful.  She's  like  a  w-wild 
deer." 

93 


Silas  Strong 

They  were  leaving  the  fire  on  their  way  to  bed. 
The  young  man  stopped  and  repeated  the  words 
incredulously— " Like  a  wild  deer!'' 

uT-take  the  ch-childern  with  ye/'  Strong  ad 
vised.  "She'll  w-want  t'  look  'em  over." 


OCKY  woke  early  next  morning, 
and  lay  looking  up  at  the  antlers, 
guns,  and  rifles  which  adorned  the 
wall.  On  a  table  near  him  were 
some  of  the  treasures  of  that 
sylvan  household  —  a  little  book  entitled  Me- 
linda,  a  dingy  Testament,  a  plush-covered  pho 
tograph-album,  and  a  stuffed  bird  on  a  wire 
bough. 

Sinth  and  the  album  were  inseparable.  She 
sometimes  left  the  dingy  Testament  or  the  little 
book  entitled  Melinda  at  her  Pitkin  home,  but 
not  the  plush-covered  album.  That  was  the 
one  link  which  connected  her,  not  only  with  the 
past,  but  with  a  degree  of  respectability,  and 
even  with  a  vague  hope  of  paradise.  What  a 
pantheon  of  family  deities!  What  a  museum 
of  hair  and  whiskers!  What  a  study  of  the 
effect  of  terror,  headache,  rheumatism,  weari 
ness,  Sunday  apparel,  tight  boots,  and  reckless 
photography  upon  the  human  countenance! 

95 


Silas    Strong 

Therein  was  the  face  of  Sinth,  indescribably 
gnarled  by  the  lens;  a  daguerreotype  of  her 
grandmother  adorned  with  lace  and  tokens  of  a 
more  cheerful  time  in  the  family  history;  faces 
and  forms  which  for  Sinth  recalled  her  play- 
days,  and  were  gone  as  hopelessly. 

Just  after  supper  the  night  before,  Socky 
had  seen  his  uncle  apply  grease  to  a  number  of 
boots  and  guns.  The  boy  had  been  permitted 
to  put  his  hands  in  the  thick  oil  of  the  bear,  and, 
while  its  odor  irked  him  a  little,  it  had,  as  it 
were,  reduced  the  friction  on  his  bearings.  Since 
then  the  gear  of  his  imagination  had  seemed  to 
work  easier,  and  had  carried  him  far  towards  the 
goal  of  manhood. 

Immediately  after  waking  he  found  the  bot 
tle  of  bear's-oil  and  poured  some  on  his  own 
boots  and  rubbed  it  in.  He  was  now  delighted 
with  the  look  of  them.  It  was  wonderful  stuff, 
that  bear's-oil.  It  made  everything  look  shiny 
and  cheerful,  and  gave  one  a  grateful  sense  of 
high  accomplishment. 

Soon  he  had  greased  the  bird  and  the  bush, 
and  the  oil  had  dripped  on  the  album  and  the 
dingy  Testament  and  the  little  book  entitled 
Melinda.  Then  he  greased  the  feet  and  legs 
of  Zeb,  who  lay  asleep  in  a  corner,  and  who 

96 


Silas   Strong 

promptly  awoke  and  ran  across  the  floor  and 
leaped  through  an  open  window,  and  hid  him 
self  under  a  boat,  as  if  for  proper  consideration 
of  ways  and  means.  In  a  few  moments  Socky 
had  greased  the  shoes  of  his  sister,  and  a  ramrod 
which  lay  on  the  window-sill,  and  taken  the  lat 
ter  into  bed  with  him. 

Soon  he  began  to  miss  the  good  Aunt  Marie, 
for,  generally,  when  he  first  awoke  he  had  gone 
and  got  into  bed  with  her.  He  held  to  the 
ramrod  and  sustained  himself  with  manly  re 
flections,  whispering  as  they  came  to  mind: 
"I'm  going  to  be  a  man.  I  ain't  no  cry-baby. 
I'm  going  to  kill  bears  and  send  the  money  to 
my  father,  an'  my  Uncle  Silas  will  give  me  a 
rocking-horse  an'  a  silver  dofunny — he  said  he 
would." 

He  ceased  to  whisper.  An  imaginary  bear 
had  approached  the  foot  of  the  bed  just  in 
time  to  save  him,  for  the  last  of  his  reflections 
had  been  interrupted  by  little  sobs.  He  struck 
bravely  with  the  ramrod  and  felled  the  bear,  and 
got  out  of  bed  and  skinned  him  and  hung  his 
hide  over  the  back  of  a  chair.  He  found  some 
potatoes  in  a  sack  beside  the  fireplace,  and  put 
down  a  row  for  the  bear's  body  and  some  more 
for  the  feet  and  legs.  Then  he  greased  the 

97 


Silas    Strong 

bear's  feet  and  got  into  bed  again,  for  Sue  had 
awoke  and  begun  to  cry. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  inquired. 

"I  want  my  Aunt  Marie,"  the  girl  sobbed. 

"Stop,  Uncle  Silas  '11  hear  you,"  said  Socky. 

"I  don't  care." 

"I'd  be  'shamed,"  the  boy  answered,  his  own 
voice  trembling  with  suppressed  emotion. 

Since  a  talk  he  had  had  with  his  father  the 
day  before,  he  felt  a  large  and  expanding  sense 
of  responsibility  for  his  sister.  Just  now  an 
idea  occurred  to  him — why  shouldn't  he,  in  his 
own  person,  supply  the  deficiencies  of  the  great 
man  they  had  come  to  see? 

"  I'll  be  your  Uncle  Silas, "  he  remarked.  "  I'm 
a  man  now,  an'  I've  killed  a  bear." 

"Where  is  he?" 

"Dead  on  the  floor  there." 

She  covered  her  face  with  the  blankets. 

"I'm  going  to  have  a  pair  o'  moccasins  an'  a 
rifle,  an'  I'll  carry  you  on  my  b-back."  He  had 
stammered  on  the  last  word  after  the  manner  of 
his  uncle. 

Just  then  they  heard  a  singular  creaking  out 
side  the  door,  and  before  either  had  time  to 
speak  it  was  flung  open.  They  were  both  sit 
ting  up  in  bed  as  their  Uncle  Silas  entered. 

98 


Silas    Strong 


"I  tnum!"  said  he,  cheerfully. 

Suddenly  he  saw  the  bird  and  the  books  and 
the  table-top  and  the  potatoes  and  the  ramrod 
and  the  hands  of  Socky.  He  whistled  ruefully; 
his  smile  faded. 

"W-well  greased!"  he  said,  looking  down  at 
the  books  and  the  bird. 

He  found  a  gun-rag  and  wiped  up  the  oil  as 
best  he  could. 

"She'll  r-raise— "  The  remark  ended  in  a 
cough  as  he  wiped  the  books.  Then  he  covered 
them  with  an  empty  meal-bag. 

The  children  began  to  dress  while  Strong  went 
half-way  up  the  ladder  and  called  to  Gordon, 
still  asleep  in  the  loft  above.  Then  he  sat  on 
the  bed  and  helped  the  boy  and  girl  get  their 
clothes  buttoned. 

"My  little  f-fawns!"  he  muttered,  with  a 
laugh. 

He  had  sat  up  until  one  o'clock  at  work  in 
his  little  shop  by  the  light  of  a  lantern.  He  had 
sawed  some  disks  from  a  round  beech  log  and 
bored  holes  in  them.  He  had  also  made  axles 
and  a  reach  and  tongue,  and  put  them  together. 
Then  he  had  placed  a  cross-bar  and  a  pivot  on 
the  front  axle  and  fastened  a  starch-box  over 
all.  The  result  was  a  wagon,  which  he  had 

99 


Silas   Strong 

arisen  early  to  finish,  and  with  which  he  had 
come  to  wake  "the  little  fawns."  Now,  when 
they  were  dressed,  he  sat  them  side  by  side  in 
the  wagon-box  and  clattered  off  down  the  trail. 

At  first  the  children  sat  silent,  oppressed  as 
they  were  by  the  odor  of  bear's-oil,  not  yet  en 
tirely  removed  from  their  hands  and  faces.  As 
the  wagon  proceeded  they  began  to  laugh  and 
call  the  dog.  Zeb  peered  from  under  the  friend 
ly  cover  of  the  boat,  and  gave  a  yearning  bark 
which  seemed  to  express  regret,  not  wholly  un- 
mingled  with  accusation,  that  on  account  of 
other  engagements  he  would  be  unable  to  ac 
cept  their  kind  invitation.  At  the  boat-house 
were  soap  and  towel  and  glad  deliverance  from 
the  flavor  of  the  bear.  On  their  return  "Mis' 
Strong"  met  them  at  the  door  of  the  cook-tent. 
She  raised  both  hands  above  her  head. 

"My  album!"  she  gasped. 

"T-y-ty!"  the  Emperor  whispered. 

"An'  the  book  my  mother  gave  me!"  she  ex 
claimed,  her  tone  rising  from  despair  to  anger. 
"They're  ruined— Silas  Strong!" 

"N-nonsense,"  said  her  brother,  calmly. 

"  Nonsense!"  she  exclaimed,  tauntingly.  "  Silas 
Strong,  do  you  know  what  has  been  done  to 
'em?" 

100 


Silas  Strong 

"G-greased,"  he  answered,  mildly.  "D-do 
'em  good." 

She  ran  into  the  cook-tent  and  returned  with 
the  sacred  album.  There  was  an  odd  menace 
in  her  figure  as  she  displayed  the  book.  She 
spread  it  open. 

"Look  at  my  grandfather!"  she  demanded. 

The  bear's-oil  had  added  emphasis  to  a  subtle, 
inherent  suggestion  of  smothered  profanity  in 
the  image  of  her  ancestor.  It  had,  as  it  were, 
given  clearness  to  an  expression  of  great  physi 
cal  discomfort. 

"L-limber  him  up,"  said  the  Emperor,  quite 
soberly. 

Master  and  Gordon  were  now  approaching. 
The  former  took  off  his  hat  and  bowed  to  the  in 
dignant  Sinth  and  blandly  remarked,  "  Boneka, 
madam." 

The  men  had  begun  to  laugh.  Sinth  changed 
color.  She  looked  down.  A  smile  began  to 
light  her  thin  face.  She  turned  away,  repeated 
the  magic  word  in  a  low  voice,  and  added,  "I 
forgive."  She  walked  hurriedly  through  the 
cook- tent  to  her  own  quarters,  and  sat  down 
and  wept  as  if,  in  truth,  the  oil  had  entered  her 
soul.  It  was,  in  a  way,  pathetic — her  devotion 
to  the  tawdry  plush  and  this  poor  shadow  of 

101 


Silas    Strong 

her  ancestor  —  and  the  historian  has  a  respect 
for  it  more  profound,  possibly,  than  his  words 
may  indicate.  She  would  have  given  her  album 
for  her  friend,  and  it  may  be  questioned  if  any 
man  hath  greater  love  than  this. 

When  she  entered  the  dinner -tent  and  sat 
down  to  stir  batter  for  the  excellent  "flapjacks " 
of  Lost  River  camp,  the  children  came  and 
kissed  her  and  stood  looking  up  into  her  face. 
Socky  had  begun  to  comprehend  his  relation 
to  the  trouble.  Shame,  guilt,  and  uncertainty 
were  in  his  countenance.  Urgent  queries  touch 
ing  the  use  and  taste  and  constitution  of  batter 
and  its  feeling  on  the  index-finger  of  one's  hand 
were  pressing  upon  him,  but  he  saw  that,  in 
common  decency,  they  must  be  deferred. 

"Aunt  Sinthy,"  said  the  little  Duke  of  Hills- 
borough. 

"What?"  she  answered. 

"I  won't  never  grease  your  album  again." 

The  woman  laughed,  placed  the  pan  on  the 
table,  and  put  her  arms  around  the  child.  Then 
she  answered,  in  a  tone  of  good-nature,  "If  it 
had  been  anything  else  in  this  world,  I  wouldn't 
have  minded." 

Just  then  Zeb  slowly  entered  the  cook-tent. 
He  had  got  rid  of  some  of  the  oil,  but  had  ac- 

IO2 


Silas   Strong 

quired  a  cough.  The  hair  on  every  leg  was 
damp  and  matted.  He  seemed  to  doubt  his 
fitness  for  social  enjoyment.  In  a  tentative 
manner  he  surveyed  the  breakfast-party,  as  if 
to  study  his  effect  upon  the  human  species. 
The  Emperor  patted  him  and  felt  of  his  legs. 

"What's  the  matter  o'  him?"  Sinth  inquired. 

"G-greased!"  said  the  Emperor,  with  a  loud 
laugh,  in  which  the  campers  joined,  whereat  the 
dog  fled  from  the  cook-tent. 

"  S-slippery  mornin' !"  Strong  exclaimed,  while 
he  stood  looking  through  the  doorway. 

"Hard  t'  keep  yer  feet,"  said  Sinth,  who  had 
caught  the  contagion  of  good  feeling  which  had 
begun  to  prevail.  It  was,  indeed,  a  remark  not 
without  some  spiritual  significance. 

So  it  befell :  the  spirit  of  that  old  chief  whose 
body  had  long  been  given  to  the  wooded  hills 
came  into  Lost  River  camp. 

Gordon  hurried  away  after  breakfast.  While 
the  children  stood  looking  down  the  trail  and 
waving  their  hands  and  weeping,  Silas  Strong 
ran  past  them  two  or  three  times  with  the 
noisy  little  wagon.  Its  consoling  clatter  silenced 
them.  There  had  been  a  deep  purpose  in  the 
heart  of  the  Emperor  while  he  spent  half  the 
night  in  his  workshop.  Gordon  had  laughingly 

103 


Silas   Strong 

explained  the  cause  of  their  disappointment  on 
arriving  at  Lost  River  camp.  Strong  was  try 
ing  to  recover  their  esteem. 

"C-come  on!"  he  shouted. 

Soon  Socky  and  Sue  sat  in  the  little  wagon 
on  their  way  to  Catamount  Pond  with  their 
Uncle  Silas  and  the  young  fisherman. 


XI 


HE  sky  was  clear,  and  the  rays 
of  the  sun  fell  hot  upon  the  dry 
woods  that  morning  when  Master 
and  the  children  and  their  Uncle 
Silas  reached  the  landing  at  Cata 
mount.  Its  eastern  shore  lay  deep  under  cool 
shadows.  The  water  plane  was  like  taut  can 
vas  on  which  a  glowing  picture  of  wooded  shore 
and  sky  and  mountain  had  been  painted.  Gold 
en  robins  darted  across  a  cove  and  sang  in  the 
tree- tops. 

Master  righted  his  canoe  and  put  the  children 
aboard  and  took  his  place  in  the  stern-seat. 

"I'll  slip  over  to  R-Robin,"  said  the  Emperor 
as  he  shoved  the  canoe  into  deep  water.  With 
him  to  "slip"  meant  to  go,  and  in  his  speech  he 
always  "slipped"  from  one  point  to  another. 

Master  pushed  through  the  pads  and  slowly 

cut  the  still  shadow.     The  inverted  towers  of 

Painter  Mountain  began  to  quake  beneath  his 

canoe.     Sue  sat  in  the  bow  and  Socky  behind 

8  105 


Silas    Strong 

her.  The  curly  hair  of  the  girl,  which  had,  in 
deed,  the  silken  yellow  of  a  corn-tassel,  showed 
beneath  her  little  pink  bonnet.  Something 
about  her  suggested  the  rose  half  open.  Socky 
wore  his  rabato  and  necktie  and  best  suit  of 
clothes.  They  were  both  in  purple  and  fine 
linen,  so  to  speak — no  one  had  thought  to  tell 
them  better. 

As  they  came  near  the  point  of  Birch  Cove, 
Master  began  to  turn  the  bow  and  check  his 
headway.  There,  on  a  moss-covered  rock,  stood 
the  maiden  whom  he  had  seen  the  day  before. 
A  crow  with  a  small  scarlet  ribbon  about  his 
neck  clung  upon  her  shoulder.  The  girl  was 
looking  at  the  two  children.  The  bird  rose  on 
his  wings  and,  after  a  moment  of  hesitation, 
flew  towards  them,  the  ends  of  the  scarlet  ribbon 
fluttering  in  the  air.  Socky  drew  back  as  the 
crow  lighted  on  a  gunwale  near  his  side.  Sue 
clung  to  the  painter  and  sat  looking  backward 
with  'curiosity  and  fear  in  her  face.  The  crow 
turned  his  head,  surveying  them  as  if  he  were, 
indeed,  quite  overcome  with  amazement. 

"Sit  still,"  said  Master,  quietly.  "He  won't 
hurt  you." 

The  bird  rose  in  the  air  again,  and,  darting 
downward,  seized  a  shiny  buckle  above  the 

106 


Silas    Strong 

visor  of  the  boy's  cap,  which  lay  on  the  canoe 
bottom,  and  bore  cap  and  all  to  his  young  mis 
tress.  Socky  began  to  cry  with  alarm. 

Master  reassured  him  and  paddled  sftowly 
towards  the  moss-covered  rock.  Silently  his 
bow  touched  the  shore.  He  stuck  his  paddle  in 
the  sand.  He  stepped  into  the  shallow  water 
and  helped  the  children  ashore.  In  the  edge  of 
the  tamaracks  and  now  partly  hidden  by  their 
foliage,  Miss  Dunmore  stood  looking  at  the 
children.  Her  figure  was  tall,  erect,  and  oddly 
picturesque.  Somehow  she  reminded  Master  of 
a  deer  halted  in  its  flight  by  curiosity.  Her  face, 
charming  in  form  and  expression,  betrayed  a 
childish  timidity  and  innocence.  Her  large, 
blue  eyes  were  full  of  wonder.  Pretty  symbols 
of  girlish  vanity  adorned  her  figure.  There  were 
fresh  violets  on  her  bodice,  and  a  delicate,  lacy 
length  of  the  moss-vine  woven  among  her  curls. 
The  girl's  hair,  wonderfully  full  and  rich  in  color, 
had  streaks  of  gold  in  it.  A  beaded  belt  and 
holster  of  Indian  make  held  a  small  pistol. 

"Miss  Dunmore,  I  believe?"  he  ventured. 

The  girl  retired  a  step  or  two  and  stood  look 
ing  timidly,  first  at  him  and  then  at  the  chil 
dren.  Her  manner  betrayed  excitement.  She 
addressed  him  with  hesitation.  "  My — my  name 

107 


Silas  Strong 

.is  Edith  Dunmore,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  just 
above  a  whisper.  With  trembling  hands  she 
picked  a  spray  of  tamarack  that  for  a  moment 
obscured  her  face. 

"You  are  the  nun  of  the  green  veil.  I  have 
heard  of  you,"  said  Master. 

"I — I  must  not  speak  to  you,  sir,"  she  said, 
as  she  retreated  a  little  farther. 

"My  name  is  Master — Robert  Master,"  said 
he.  "I  shall  stay  only  a  minute,  but  these  chil 
dren  would  like  to  know  you."  While  speaking 
he  had  returned  to  his  canoe.  Socky  and  Sue 
stood  still,  looking  up  at  the  maiden. 

"Children!"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  low,  sweet, 
tremulous  tone,  as  she  took  a  step  towards  them. 
"The  wonderful  little  children?" 

"Sometimes  I  think  they  are  brownies,"  he 
answered,  with  a  smile  of  amusement.  "  But 
their  uncle  calls  them  little  fawns." 

Her  right  hand,  which  held  the  spray  of  tam 
arack,  fell  to  her  side;  her  left  hand  clung  to  a 
branch  on  which  the  crow  sat  a  little  above  her 
shoulder,  and  her  cheek  lay  upon  her  arm  as  she 
looked  down  wistfully,  fondly,  at  the  children. 
Her  blue  eyes  were  full  of  curiosity. 

Socky  and  Sue  regarded  the  beautiful  maiden 
with  a  longing  akin  to  that  in  her.  In  all  there 

108 


Silas    Strong 

was  a  deep,  mysterious  desire  which  had  grown- 
out  of  nature's  need — in  them  for  a  mother,  in 
her  for  the  endearing  touch  of  those  newly  come 
into  the  world  and  for  their  high  companionship. 
Moreover,  these  two  little  ones,  who  had  now  a 
dim  and  imperfect  recollection  of  their  mother, 
had  shaped  an  ideal — partly  through  the  help  of 
Gordon — to  take  its  place.  Therein  they  saw  a 
lady,  young  and  beautiful  and  more  like  this  one 
who  stood  before  them  than  like  any  they  had 
yet  beheld.  Sue  grasped  the  hand  of  her  brother, 
and  both  stood  gazing  at  the  maiden,  but  neither 
spoke  nor  moved  for  a  moment.  Edith  Dun- 
more  leaned  forward  a  little,  looking  into  their 
faces. 

"Can  you  not  speak  to  me?"  she  asked. 

Socky  began  to  be  embarrassed;  his  eyes  fell; 
he  shook  his  head  doubtfully. 

Edith  Dunmore  looked  up  at  the  stalwart 
figure  of  the  young  man.  Their  eyes  met.  She 
quickly  turned  away.  The  tame  crow,  on  the 
bough  above,  began  to  laugh  and  chatter  as  if 
he  thought  it  all  an  excellent  joke. 

"May — I — take  them  in  my  arms?"  she  ask 
ed,  with  hesitation. 

"Yes;  but  I  warn  you — they  have  a  way  of 
stealing  one's  heart." 

109 


Silas   Strong 

"  Ah-h-h-h-h!"  croaked  the  little  crow,  in  a 
warning  cry,  as  if  he  had  seen  at  once  the  peril 
of  it. 

She  had  begun  to  move  slowly,  almost  timidly, 
towards  the  children.  She  knelt  before  them 
and  took  the  little  hand  of  Sue  in  hers  and 
looked  upon  it  with  wonder.  She  touched  it 
with  her  lips;  she  pressed  it  against  her  cheek; 
she  trembled  beneath  its  power.  The  touch  of 
the  child's  hand  was,  for  her,  it  would  almost 
seem,  like  that  of  One  on  the  eyes  of  Bartimeus. 
Suddenly,  as  by  a  miracle,  Edith  Dunmore  rose 
out  of  childhood.  The  veil  of  the  nun  was  rent 
away.  She  was  a  woman  fast  coming  into  riches 
of  unsuspected  inheritance.  She  put  her  arms 
about  the  two  and  gently  drew  them  towards 
her  and  held  them  close.  Her  embrace  and  the 
touch  of  her  breast  upon  theirs  were  grateful 
to  them,  and  they  kissed  her.  Her  eyes  were 
wet,  her  sweet  voice  full  of  familiar  but  un- 
comprehended  longing  when  she  said,  "Dear 
little  children!" 

"  Tut,  tut!"  said  the  tame  crow,  who  had  crept 
to  the  end  of  his  branch,  where  he  stood  look 
ing  down  at  them.  In  a  moment  he  began  to 
break  the  green  twigs  and  let  them  fall  on  the 
head  of  his  mistress. 

no 


Silas   Strong 

Sue  felt  the  hair  and  looked  into  the  face  and 
eyes  of  the  maiden  with  wondering  curiosity. 
Socky  ran  his  ringers  over  the  beaded  belt. 
Both  had  a  suspicion  which  they  dared  not  ex 
press  that  here  was  an  angel  in  some  way  re 
lated  to  their  mother. 

''You  are  a  beautiful  lady,"  said  the  boy, 
with  childish  frankness. 

Master  has  often  tried  to  describe  the  scene. 
He  confesses  that  words,  even  though  vivid  and 
well  spoken,  cannot  make  one  to  understand 
the  something  which  lay  beneath  all  said  and 
done,  and  which  went  to  his  heart  so  that  for  a 
time  he  turned  and  walked  away  from  them. 

"Do  you  remember  when  you  were  fairies?" 
the  girl  asked  of  the  children. 

The  latter  shook  their  heads. 

"Tell  us  about  the  fairies,"  Sue  proposed, 
timidly. 

"They  are  old,  old  people — so  my  father  has 
told  me,"  said  the  beautiful  lady.  "They  came 
into  this  world  thousands  of  years  ago  riding 
in  a  great  cloud  that  was  drawn  by  wild  geese. 
The  fairies  came  down,  each  on  a  big  flake  of 
snow,  and  got  off  in  the  tree -tops  and  never 
went  away.  At  first  they  were  the  teentiest 
folks — so  little  that  a  hundred  of  them  could 

in 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


Silas    Strong 

stand  on  a  maple  leaf — and  very,  very  old.  My 
father  says  they  were  never  young  in  their  lives, 
and  I  guess  they  have  always  lived.  They  rode 
around  on  the  backs  of  the  birds  and  saw  every 
thing  in  the  world  and  had  such  a  good  time 
they  all  began  to  grow  young.  Now,  as  they 
grew  young  they  grew  bigger  and  bigger,  and 
every  spring  a  lot  more  of  the  little  old  people 
came  out  of  the  sky  and  began  to  grow  young 
like  the  others.  And  by-and-by  some  of  them 
were  as  big  as  your  thumb  and  bigger." 

"How  big  do  they  grow?"  the  boy  asked. 

"As  they  grow  young  they  keep  growing  big 
ger.  By-and-by  the  birds  cannot  carry  them. 
Then  they  have  to  walk,  and  for  the  first  time 
in  their  lives  they  begin  to  get  hungry  and  learn 
to  cry  and  nobody  knows  what  is  the  matter  with 
them.  The  fairies  complain  about  the  noise 
they  make,  and  one  night  a  little  old  woman 
takes  them  down  into  the  woods  to  get  them 
out  of  the  way.  And  violets  grow  wherever 
their  feet  touch  the  ground,  and  they  sit  in  a 
huckleberry  bush  and  make  a  noise  like  the  cry 
of  a  spotted  fawn.  The  fawns  hear  them  and 
know  very  well  what  they  are  crying  for.  The 
fawns  have  always  loved  them.  When  the 
fairies  come  down  out  of  the  tree-tops  they 

112 


Silas   Strong 

always  ride  on  the  fawns,  and  where  they  have 
sat  you  can  see  a  little  white  spot  about  as  big  as 
a  flake  of  snow.  That's  why  the  fawns  are 
spotted,  and  you  know  how  shy  they  are — they 
mustn't  let  anybody  see  the  fairies.  Well,  the 
young  ones  sit  there  in  a  huckleberry  bush 
crying.  The  little  animals  come  and  lick  their 
faces  and  tell  them  of  a  wonderful  spring  where 
milk  flows  out  of  a  little  hill  and  has  a  magic 
power  in  it,  for  even  if  one  were  crying  and 
tasted  the  milk  he  always  became  happy.  The 
young  fairies  climb  on  the  backs  of  the  fawns 
and  ride  away.  By-and-by  the  fawns  come 
to  their  mothers  and  their  mothers  tell  them 
that  no  one  who  has  teeth  in  his  head  can 
drink  at  the  spring.  So  they  wonder  what  to 
do.  By-and-by  they  go  to  the  woodpecker,  for 
he  has  a  pair  of  forceps  and  can  pull  anything, 
and  the  woodpecker  pulls  their  teeth.  Then 
the  young  fairies  do  nothing  but  ride  around — 
each  on  a  spotted  fawn — and  drink  at  the  won 
derful  spring  and  grow  fat  and  lazy,  and  the 
birds  pull  every  hair  out  of  their  heads  to  build 
nests  with.  They  live  down  in  the  woods,  for 
they  cannot  climb  the  trees  any  more,  and  one 
day  they  fall  asleep  for  the  first  time  and  tumble 
off  the  fawns  and  lie  on  the  ground  dreaming. 

"3 


Silas   Strong 

They  dream  of  the  fairy-heaven  where  they  shall 
grow  old  again  and  each  shall  have  a  mother 
and  his  own  wonderful  spring  of  milk.  Now  that- 
day  trees  begin  to  grow  in  the  ground  beneath 
them.  The  trees  grow  fast,  and  all  in  a  night 
they  lift  the  sleeping  fairies  far  above  the 
ground.  The  wind  rocks  them  and  they  lie 
dreaming  in  the  tree-tops  until  a  crane,  as  he  is 
crossing  over  the  sky,  looks  down  and  sees  them 
and  goes  and  takes  them  away.  You  know  the 
cranes  have  to  go  through  the  sky  every  day 
and  pick  up  the  young  fairies." 

She  paused  and  sat  holding  the  hands  of  little 
Sue  and  looking  at  them  as  if  their  beauty  were 
a  great  wonder. 

"Where  do  they  take  them?" 

Master  was  returning,  and  the  girl  rose  like  one 
afraid  and  whispered  to  the  children,  "  I  will  tell 
you  if — if  you  will  come  again." 

"I  shall  ask -your  father  if  I  may  come  and 
see  you,"  said  Master  as  he  came  near. 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!"  the  bird  croaked,  fluttering  in 
the  air  and  lighting  on  the  shoulder  of  his  mis 
tress. 

The  children  stepped  aside  quickly,  as  if  in 
fear  of  it. 

She  took  the  crow  on  her  finger  and  held  him 
114 


Silas   Strong 

at  arm's-length.  He  turned  and  tried  to  catch 
an  end  of  the  scarlet  ribbon.  She  was  a  picture 
then  to  remind  one  of  the  days  of  falconry.  She 
ran  a  few  paces  up  a  green  aisle  in  the  thicket. 
She  stopped  where  the  young  man  was  unable 
to  see  her. 

"Could — could  you  bring  the  children  again, 
sir?"  she  asked. 

"On  Thursday,  at  the  same  hour,"  he  an 
swered. 

He  heard  again  the  warning  of  the  little  crow 
and  her  footsteps  growing  fainter  in  the  dark 
trail  of  the  deer. 


XII 


ASTER  paddled  slowly  to  the  land 
ing  where  he  had  left  Strong,  and 
gathered  lilies  while  they  waited. 
He  pushed  up  to  the  shore  as  soon 
as  the  Emperor  had  arrived. 
"Sp'ilt,"  said  the  latter,  pointing  in  the  di 
rection  of  Robin  Lake. 

"You  mean  that  we  cannot  use  the  camp 
over  there?" 

"Ay-ah,"   Strong  almost  whispered,   with  a 
face  in  which  perspiration  was  mingled  with 
regret  and  geniality. 
"S-see  'er?" 

'  *  Yes , "  Master  answered .  *  *  The  children  were 
a  great  help.  She  fell  in  love  with  them.  We 
are  to  meet  her  again  Thursday." 

"Uh-huh!"  Strong  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  which 
seemed  to  say,  "I  told  you  so." 

"S-sociable?"  he  inquired,  after  a  little  pause. 
"No,  but  interested." 

"Uh-huh,  says   I!"  the  Emperor  exclaimed 
116 


Silas    Strong 

again,  with  playful  conceit.  When  he  was  in 
the  mood  of  self -congratulation  he  had  an  odd 
way  of  bringing  out  those  two  words — "  says  I." 

"  She  was  afraid  of  me.  I  backed  away  and 
said  very  little,"  Master  explained. 

"Th-they'll  t-tame  her,"  the  Emperor  assured 
him. 

"She  has  a  wonderful  crow  with  her,"  said 
the  young  man. 

"Her  g-guide,"  Strong  explained.  "Alwus 
knows  the  n-nighest  way  home." 

"  If  you'll  help  me,  I'll  make  my  camp  here," 
said  Master. 

"Ay-ah,"  the  Emperor  answered. 

His  manner  and  his  odd  remark  were  full  of 
approval  and  almost  affectionate  admiration.  In 
half  a  moment  his  tongue  lazily  added,  "  L-lean 
her  'gin  th-that  air  rock."  In  his  conversation 
he  conferred  the  feminine  gender  upon  all  in 
animate  things — a  kind  of  compliment  to  the 
sex  he  revered  so  highly. 

"How  long  will  it  take?" 

"Day,"  said  Strong,  surveying  the  ground. 

"I  have  to  speak  in  Hillsborough  on  the 
Fourth.  Suppose  we  tackle  it  on  my  return?" 

Strong  agreed,  and  while  he  and  the  children 
set  out  for  camp  Master  remained  to  fish, 

117 


Silas    Strong 

Two  "sports"  had  arrived  in  the  absence  of 
the  Emperor  and  were  shooting  at  a  mark — a 
pastime  so  utterly  foolish  in  the  view  of  Silas 
Strong  that  he  would  rarely  permit  any  one  at 
Lost  River  camp  to  indulge  in  it.  He  who  dis 
charged  his  rifle  without  sufficient  provocation 
was  roughly  classed  with  that  breed  of  hounds 
which  had  learned  no  better  than  to  bark  at  a 
squirrel. 

"Paunchers!"  he  muttered,  as  he  came  up 
the  trail. 

It  should  be  explained  here  that  he  divided 
all  "would-be  sportsmen"  into  three  classes — 
namely,  swishers,  pouters,  and  paunchers.  A 
swisher  was  one  who  filled  the  air  within  reach 
of  his  cast,  catching  trees  and  bushes,  but  no 
fish;  a  pouter,  one  who  baited  and  hauled  his 
fish  as  if  it  were  no  better  than  a  bull-pout;  a 
pauncher  was  wont  to  hit  his  deer  "in  the  mid 
dle"  and  never  saw  him  again. 

The  Emperor  stopped  suddenly.  He  had 
seen  a  twig  fall  near  him  and  heard  the  whiz 
of  a  bullet. 

"Whoa!"  he  called,  his  voice  ringing  in  the 
timber.  "H-hold  on!" 

The  Migleys — father  and  son — of  Migleyville, 
hastened  to  greet  the  "  Emperor  of  the  Woods." 

ix8 


i&ilas    Strong 

They  were  tb.>  heralds  of  the  great  king  of 
which  Strong  haul  complained  that  night  he  laid 
his  heart  bare  an^d  whose  name  was  Business — 
a  king  who  ruled  >  not  with  the  sword,  but  with 
flattery  and  tempt  ation  and  artful  devices.  The 
Emperor  knew  thatt  they  were  the  men  who  had 
bought  his  stronghold;  that  they  were  come  to 
shove  the  frontier  c^f  their  king  far  beyond  the 
Lost  River  country  ;  that  axes  and  saws  and 
dams  and  flooded  flatus  and  whirling  wheels  and 
naked  hill-sides  would  -soon  follow  them. 

"How  are  you,  Mr.  vStrong?"  said  the  elder 
Migley,  who,  by  his  sonA  was  familiarly  called 
"Pop."  He  overflowed  wi'&h  geniality.  "Glad 
to  see  you.  Hot  an'  dry  otKt  in  the  clearing. 
Little  track- worn.  Thought  we\4  come  in  here 
for  a  breath  o'  fresh  air  an'  a  weeiir  or  two  o' 
sport.  Have  a  drink?" 

He  winked  one  eye  in  a  significant  marn^er, 
which  seemed  to  say  that  he  had  plenty  and 
was  out  for  a  good  time. 

"  N-no  th-thanks,"  said  Strong,  as  he  surveyed 
the  stout  figure  of  the  elder  Migley. 

Here  was  one  of  the  royal  family  of  Business, 
in  dress  neatly  symbolic,  for  Mr.  Migley  wore  a 
light  suit  of  clothes  divided  into  checks  of  con 
siderable  magnitude  by  stripes  that  ran,  as  it 

IIQ 


, 


Silas  Stromg 

were,  north,  south,  east,  and  -fvest.  The  broad 
convexity  of  his  front  resemble<|l,  in  some  degree, 
an  atlas  globe.  One  might  }/iave  located  any 
part  of  his  system  by  degrees  of  latitude  and 
longitude.  His  equator  was  represented  by  a 
large  golden  chain  which  curved  in  a  great  arc 
from  one  pocket  of  his  wais/tcoat  to  the  other. 
As  he  walked  one  might  haye  imagined  that  he 
was  moving  in  his  orbit.  His  large,  full  face 
was  adorned  with  a  chnvwhisker  and  a  selfish 
and  prosperous-looking  rAose.  It  had  got  pos 
session  of  nearly  all  the  r^olor  in  his  countenance, 
and  occupied  more  thavn  its  share  of  space.  The 
son,  "Tom,"  had  ojlder  manners  and  a  more 
severe  face.  He  /'carried  with  him  a  look  of 
world-wearinesjar  and  a  sense  of  all-embracing 
knowledge  coo  frequently  derived  from  youthful 
experience.  He  was  the-only-son  type  of  do- 
me-Oocic  tyrant — overfed,  selfish,  brutal,  wearied 
/by  adulation,  crowned  with  curly  hair. 

"Look  at  that  boy,"  the  elder  Migley  whis 
pered,  pointing  at  the  fat  young  man  of  twenty- 
three  who  sat  on  a  door-sill  cleaning  his  rifle. 
"Ain't  he  a  picture?  Got  a  fast  mark  in  Hash-  ' 
ford  Seminary."  Mr.  Migley  owned  a  number 
of  trotting-horses,  and  his  conversation  was  al 
ways  flavored  with  the  cant  of  the  stable. 

120 


Silas   Strong 

Strong  looked  sadly  at  the  fat  young  man, 
who  was,  indeed,  the  very  personification  of 
pulp,  and  thought  of  the  doom  of  the  woods. 

The  elder  Migley,  as  if  able  to  read  the  mind 
of  Strong,  offered  him  the  consolation  of  a  cigar. 
Then  he  reached  to  the  pegs  above  him  and 
lowered  a  quaking  whip  of  greenheart  which  he 
had  put  together  soon  after  his  arrival. 

"  Heft  it,"  he  whispered,  pressing  his  rod  upon 
the  Emperor.  "Ain't  that  a  dandy?" 

He  looked  into  the  eyes  of  the  woodsman. 
He  winked  a  kind  of  challenge,  and  added, 
11  Seems  to  me  that  ought  to  fetch  'em." 

"Mebbe,"  Strong  answered,  gently  swaying 
the  rod.  He  was  never  too  free  in  committing 
himself. 

"Got  it  for  Tommy,"  said  the  new  sports 
man.  "Ketched  a  four-pounder  with  it — ask 
him  if  I  didn't."  Mr.  Migley  had  the  habit  of 
self-corroboration,  and  Strong  used  to  say  that 
he  never  believed  that  kind  of  a  liar. 

"Le's  go  an'  try  'em,"  Migley  suggested. 

The  Emperor  smoked  thoughtfully  a  moment. 

"D-down  river,  bym-by,"  he  said,  pointing  at 
the  cook-tent  as  if  he  had  now  to  prepare  the 
dinner. 

Strong  had  seen  the  Migleys  before,  although 

9  121 


Silas    Strong 

he  had  never  entertained  them.  They  had 
paunched  and  pouted  in  territory  not  far  remote 
from  Lost  River,  and  won  a  reputation  which 
had  travelled  among  the  guides.  They  worked 
hard,  and  hurried  out  of  the  woods  with  all  the 
fish  and  meat  they  could  carry,  and  no  respect 
for  any  law  save  one — the  law  of  gravitation. 
They  sat  down  or  lay  upon  their  backs  every 
half-hour.  Now,  it  seemed,  they  were  to  aban 
don  the  vulgar  art  of  the  pouter  for  one  more 
gentle  and  becoming. 

Strong  hastened  to  the  cook-tent,  where  he 
found  Sinth  treating  the  children  to  sugared 
cakes  and  words  of  motherly  fondness. 

"Teenty  little  dears!"  she  was  saying  when 
Silas  entered  the  door. 

She  rose  quickly,  and  hurried  to  the  stove 
with  a  kind  of  shame  on  her  countenance.  Silas 
kept  a  sober  face  while  he  went  for  the  water- 
pail,  as  if  he  had  not  "took  notice."  His  joy 
broke  free  and  expressed  itself  in  loud  laughter 
on  his  way  to  the  spring. 

"Snook!"  Sinth  exclaimed,  her  face  red  with 
embarrassment  as  she  heard  him.  She  poked 
the  fire  with  great  energy,  and  added:  "Let  the 
fool  laugh.  I  don't  care  if  he  did  hear  me." 

A  new  impulse  from  the  heart  of  nature  en- 

122 


Silas  Strong 

tered  the  Migley  breast.  Father  and  son  were 
seeking  an  opportunity  to  use  their  muscles. 
The  son  seized  a  girder  above  his  head  and  be 
gan  to  chin  it;  the  father  went  to  work  with  an 
axe,  and  his  enthusiasm  fell  in  heavy  blows  upon 
a  beech  log. 

Strong  peered  through  the  window  at  him 
and  muttered  the  one  contemptuous  word, 
"  W-woodpecker !" 

A  poor  chopper  in  that  part  of  the  country 
was  always  classed  with  the  woodpeckers. 

Dinner  over,  the  elder  Migley  opened  his  tin 
fishing  -  box  and  displayed  an  assortment  of 
cheap  flies  and  leaders. 

"Well,  captain,"  said  the  young  man,  as  he 
turned  to  Strong,  "if  you'll  show  us  where  the 
trout  live,  we'll  show  you  who  they  belong  to." 
He  passed  judgment  and  bestowed  rank  upon 
a  great  many  people,  and  most  of  his  brevets, 
if  he  had  been  frank  with  them,  would  have  put 
his  life  in  peril. 

"Pop"  Migley  touched  a  rib  of  the  Emperor 
with  his  big,  coercive  thumb,  shut  one  eye,  and 
produced  a  kind  of  snore  in  his  larynx. 

The  wit  of  his  son  had  increased  the  cheerful 
ness  of  Mr.  Migley.  He  began  telling  coarse 
tales,  and  continued  until,  as  the  Emperor  would 

123 


Silas  Strong 

say,  he  had  "emptied  his  reel."  The  man  who 
talked  too  much  always  had  a  "big  reel,"  in  the 
thought  of  the  Emperor,  and  "slack  line"  was 
the  phrase  he  applied  to  empty  words. 

With  everything  ready  for  sport,  they  pro 
ceeded  to  the  landing  on  Lost  River  and  were 
soon  seated  in  a  long  canoe. 

"We'll  t-try  Dunmore's  trout,"  said  Strong  as 
they  left  the  shore. 

"Dunmore's  trout?"  said  the  elder  Migley. 

"Ay-uh,"  the  Emperor  answered.  "He 
hitched  onto  an'  1-lost  him." 

"Oh,  it's  that  fish  I've  heard  about  that 
grabbed  off  one  of  Dunmore's  flies,"  said  the 
elder  Migley. 

"Uh-huh,"  the  Emperor  assented. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  old  gentleman  who 
lived  on  the  shore  of  Buckhorn  had  done  a  good 
deal  of  talking  about  this  remarkable  fish. 

Father  and  son  sat  with  rods  in  hand  while 
Strong  worked  through  the  still  water  and  down 
a  long  rush  of  rapids  and  halted  below  them 
near  a  deep  pool  flecked  with  foam. 

"C-cast,"  said  he. 

With  a  wild  swish  and  a  spasmodic  movement 
of  arm  and  shoulder,  "Pop"  Migley,  who  sat 
amidships,  tipped  the  canoe  until  it  took  water. 

124 


Silas    Strong 

Strong  dashed  his  paddle  and  recovered  balance. 
The  young  man  swore. 

"C-cast  yer  f -flies,"  Strong  suggested,  and  his 
emphasis  clearly  indicated  that  the  fisherman 
should  cease  casting  his  body. 

Again  the  nouveau  worked  his  rod,  whipping 
its  point  to  the  water  fore  and  aft.  Flies  and 
leader  clawed  over  the  back  of  Silas  Strong, 
fetching  his  hat  off.  Before  he  could  recover, 
the  young  man  went  into  action.  Strong 
ducked  in  time  to  save  an  ear,  splashing  his 
paddle  again  to  keep  the  canoe  on  its  bottom. 
The  tail-fly  had  caught  above  his  elbow.  When 
Strong  tried  to  loosen  its  hold  the  young'  man 
was  tugging  at  the  line.  Strong  endeavored  to 
speak,  but  somehow  the  words  wouldn't  come. 
Suddenly  the  other  rod  came  back  with  a  power 
ful  swing  and  smote  him  on  the  top  of  his 
head. 

He  had  been  trying  to  say  "  See  here,"  but  his 
tongue  had  halted  on  the  s.  Then  he  took  a 
new  tack,  as  it  were,  and  tried  a  phrase  which 
began  with  the  letter  g,  and  had  fair  success 
with  it. 

Both  Migleys  gave  a  start  of  surprise.  The 
Emperor  waited  to  recover  self-control  and  felt 
a  touch  of  remorse. 

I25 


Silas   Strong 

"Le'  me  c-climb  a  t-tree,"  he  suggested, 
presently. 

The  elder  Migley  burst  into  loud  laughter. 

"Stop  fooling!"  said  the  young  man.  "I'd 
like  to  get  some  fish." 

He  swung  his  rod,  and  was  again  tugging  at 
the  shirt-sleeve  of  the  Emperor. 

Strong  blew  as  he  clung  to  the  leader. 

"C-cast  c-crossways,"  he  commanded,  with  a 
gesture. 

The  fishermen  rested  a  moment.  A  hundred 
feet  or  so  below  them  Strong  saw  a  squirrel 
crossing  the  still  water.  Suddenly  there  was 
a  movement  behind  him,  and  he  sank  out  of 
sight.  In  half  a  moment  he  rose  again,  swim 
ming  with  frantic  haste  to  reach  a  clump  of 
alder  branches.  Strong  knew  the  mysterious 
villain  of  this  little  drama  of  the  river,  but  said 
not  a  word  of  what  he  had  seen. 

The  "sports"  resumed  fishing  with  less  con 
fidence  and  more  care.  Soon  they  were  able 
to  reach  off  twenty  feet  or  so,  but  they  raked 
the  air  with  deadly  violence,  and  every  moment 
one  leader  was  laying  hold  of  the  other  or  catch 
ing  in  a  tree-top.  Strong  pulled  down  bough 
after  bough  to  free  the  flies.  Presently  they 
were  caught  high  in  a  balsam. 

126 


Silas   Strong 

4 'Take  us  where  there's  trout.  What  do  you 
think  we're  fishing  for,  anyway?"  said  young 
Migley. 

"B -birds,"  Strong  answered,  as  he  continued 
hauling  at  the  tree- top  with  hand  and  paddle. 
He  used  language  always  for  the  simple  pur 
pose  of  expressing  his  thoughts.  Soon  the  elder 
Migley  began  to  feel  the  need  of  information. 
He  passed  his  rod  to  the  Emperor. 

"  Show  me  how  ye  do  it,"  said  he. 

Strong  paddled  to  a  large,  flat  rock  which 
rose,  mid  -  stream,  a  little  above  water.  He 
climbed  upon  it  and  sat  down  lazily. 

Nature  had  taught  him,  as  she  teaches  all  who 
bear  heavy  burdens,  to  conserve  his  strength. 
He  had  none  to  waste  in  the  support  of  dignity. 
When  he  sat  down  his  weight  was  braced  with 
hand,  foot,  and  elbow  so  as  to  rest  his  heart 
and  muscles.  Now  he  seemed  to  anchor  him 
self  by  throwing  his  right  knee  over  his  left 
foot.  His  garment  of  cord  and  muscle  lay 
loosely  on  his  bones.  There  was  that  in  the 
pose  of  this  man  to  remind  one  of  an  ox  lying 
peacefully  in  the  field.  He  drew  a  loop  of 
line  off  the  reel,  and  with  no  motion  of  arm 
or  body,  his  wrist  bent,  the  point  of  the  rod 

sprang  forward,  his  flies  leaped  the  length  of  his 

127 


Silas  Strong 

line  and  fell  lightly  on  the  river  surface.  They 
wavered  across  the  current.  He  drew  another 
loop  of  line.  The  rod  rose  and  gave  its  double 
spring,  and  his  flies  leaped  away  and  fell  farther 
down  the  current.  So  his  line  flickered  back  and 
forth,  running  out  and  reaching  with  every  cast 
until  it  spanned  near  a  hundred  feet. 

Still  the  Emperor  smoked  lazily,  and,  saving 
that  little  movement  of  the  wrist,  reposed  as  mo 
tionless  and  serene  as  the  rock  upon  which  he  sat. 

Suddenly  Strong's  figure  underwent  a  remark 
able  change.  He  bent  forward,  alert  as  a  panther 
in  sight  of  his  prey.  His  mouth  was  open,  his 
eyes  full  of  animation.  The  supple  wrist  bent 
swiftly.  The  flies  sprang  up  and  flashed  back 
ward;  the  line  sang  in  its  flight.  Where  the 
squirrel  rose  a  big  trout  had  sprung  above  wa 
ter  and  come  down  with  a  splash.  But  he  had 
missed  his  aim.  Again  the  flies  lighted  precisely 
where  the  trout  sprang  and  wavered  slowly 
through  the  bubbles.  A  breath  of  silence  fol 
lowed.  The  finned  arrow  burst  above  water  in  a 
veil  of  mist ;  down  he  plunged  with  a  fierce  grab 
at  the  tail-fly.  The  wrist  of  the  fisherman  sprang 
upward.  The  barb  caught;  the  line  slanted 
straight  as  a  lance  and  seemed  to  strike  at  the 
river-bottom.  The  rod  was  bending.  The  fish 

128 


Silas    Strong 

had  given  a  quick  haul,  and  now  the  line's  end 
came  rushing  in.  The  shrewd  old  trout  knew 
how  to  gather  slack  on  a  fisherman.  Strong 
rose  like  a  jack-in-the-box.  His  hand  flashed 
to  the  reel.  It  began  to  play  like  the  end  of  a 
piston.  He  swung  half  around  and  his  rod 
came  up.  The  fish  turned  for  a  mad  rush. 
With  hands  upon  rod  and  silk  the  fisherman 
held  to  check  him.  Strong's  line  ripped  through 
the  water  plane  from  mid-river  to  the  shadow 
of  the  bank.  The  strain  upon  the  fish's  jaw 
halted  him.  He  settled  and  began  to  jerk  on 
the  line.  Strong  raised  his  foot  and  tapped 
the  butt  of  his  rod.  The  report  seemed  to  go 
down  the  line  as  if  it  had  been  a  telephone 
message.  It  startled  the  trout,  and  again  he 
took  a  long  reach  of  silk  off  the  reel.  Then 
slowly  he  went  back  and  forth  through  an  arc 
of  some  twenty  feet,  and  the  long  line  swung  like 
a  pendulum.  Weakened  by  his  efforts,  he  began 
to  lead  in.  Slowly  he  came  near  the  rock,  and 
soon  the  splendid  trout  lay  gasping  from  utter 
weariness  an  arm's-length  from  his  captor. 

As  the  net  approached  him  he  dove  again, 
hauling  with  fierce  energy.  The  man  was  lean 
ing  over  the  edge  of  the  rock,  his  rod  in  one  hand, 
his  net  in  the  other.  He  came  near  losing  his 

129 


Silas    Strong 

balance  in  the  sudden  attack.  He  scrambled 
into  position.  Again  the  trout  gave  up  and 
followed  the  strain  of  the  leader.  Strong  let 
himself  down  upon  the  river-bottom  beside  the 
rock,  and  stood  to  his  belt  in  water.  The  fish 
retreated  again  and  came  back  helpless  and 
was  taken. 

He  filled  the  net.  A  great  tail  -  fin  waved 
above  its  rim.  The  Emperor  hefted  his  catch 
and  blew  like  a  buck  deer,  after  his  custom  in 
moments  of  great  stress.  Then  came  a  declara 
tion  of  unusual  length. 

"Ye  could  r-reel  me  in  with  a  c-c-cotton 
th-thread  an'  p-pick  me  up  in  yer  f -fingers." 

It  was  growing  dusk.  Strong  clambered  to 
the  top  of  the  rock.  "Pop"  Migley  brought 
the  canoe  alongside. 

The  Emperor  gave  a  loud  whistle  of  surprise. 

"Dunmore's  t-trout!"  he  said,  soberly.  He 
had  found  a  " black  gnat"  embedded  in  the  fish's 
mouth,  its  snell  broken  near  the  loop.  He  put 
the  struggling  fish  back  in  the  net  and  tied  his 
handkerchief  across  the  top  of  it. 

The  Migleys  both  agreed  that  they  were  ready 
for  supper. 

The  Emperor  got  aboard  and  requested  the 
elder  Migley  to  keep  the  fish  under  water,  while 

130 


Silas    Strong 

he  took  his  paddle  and  pushed  for  camp.  They 
put  their  trout  in  a  spring  at  the  boat-house. 

The  sports  hurried  to  camp.  Master  came 
down  the  path  and  met  Strong. 

"I've  got  D-Dunmore's  t-trout,"  said  the 
latter. 

"Good!"  Master  answered;  "that  will  give  us 
an  excuse  to  go  and  call  on  him." 


XIII 


HAT  evening,  while  the  others 
went  out  to  sit  by  the  camp-fire, 
Silas  Strong  put  the  children  to 
bed  and  lay  down  beside  them. 
They  begged  him  for  a  story, 
and,  while  he  had  neither  skill  nor  practice  in 
narration,  he  had,  as  the  rustic  merchant  is 
wont  to  say,  a  desire  to  please.  He  knew 
that  he  had  disappointed  the  children  and 
was  doing  his  best  to  recover  their  esteem. 
Possibly  he  ought  to  try  and  be  more  like  other 
folks.  He  rubbed  his  thin,  sandy  beard,  he 
groped  among  the  treasures  of  his  memory. 

Infrequently  he  had  gone  over  them  with 
Sinth  or  the  Lady  Ann,  but  briefly  and  with 
halting  words  and  slow  reflection.  He  had 
that  respect  for  the  past  which  is  a  character 
istic  of  the  true  historian,  but,  in  his  view, 
it  gave  him  little  to  say  of  his  own  exploits. 
He  was  wont  to  observe,  ironically,  that  oth 
ers  knew  more  of  them  than  he  knew  him- 

132 


Silas  Strong 

self.  Owing,  it  may  be,  to  his  little  infirmity 
of  speech,  he  had  never  been  misled  into  the 
broad  way  of  prevarication.  Brevity  had  been 
his  refuge  and  his  strength.  He  regarded  with 
contempt  the  boastful  narratives  of  woodsmen. 

Now  the  siren  voices  of  the  little  folks  had 
made  him  thoughtful.  Had  he  nothing  to  give 
them  but  disappointment  ?  He  hesitated.  Then 
he  fell,  as  it  were,  but,  happily,  for  the  sake  of 
those  two  he  had  begun  to  love,  and  not  through 
pride.  It  was  a  kind  of  modesty  which  caused 
him  to  reach  for  the  candle  and  blow  it  out. 
Then,  boldly,  as  it  wTere,  he  began  to  sing  a  brief 
account  of  one  of  his  own  adventures.  He  could 
sing  without  stammering,  and  therefore  he  sang 
an  odd  and  almost  tuneless  chant.  He  accepted 
such  rhyme  and  rhythm  as  chanced  to  drift  in 
upon  the  monotonous  current  of  his  epic;  but 
he  turned  not  aside  for  them.  He  sang  glibly, 
jumping  in  and  out  of  that  old,  melodious  trail 
of  "The  Son  of  a  Gamboleer."  "Strong  called 
this  unique  creation  of  his 

"THE   STORY   OF   THE    MELLERED   BEAR. 


One  day  yer  Uncle  Silas  went  for  to  kill  a  bear, 
An'  a  dog  he  took  an'  follered  which  his  name  was 
little  Zeb; 

133 


Silas  Strong 


Bym-by  we  come  acrost  a  track  which  looked  as  big 
as  sin, 

An'  Zeb  he  hollered  'twas  a  bear,  which  I  didn't  quite 
believe  in 

Until  I  got  down  on  my  knee,  an'  then  I  kind  o' 
laughed, 

For  su'thin'  cur 'us  showed  me  where  he'd  wrote  his 
autygraft, 

An'  which  way  he  was  travellin'  all  in  the  frosty  snow; 

An'  I  follered  Zeb,  the  bear-dog,  as  fast  as  I  could  go, 

An'  purty  soon  I  see 

Where  the  bear  had  tore  his  overcoat  upon  a  hem 
lock-tree, 

An'  left  some  threads  behind  him  which  fell  upon  his 
track, 

Which  I  wouldn't  wonder  if  he  done  a-scratchin'  of 
his  back, 

Which  caused  me  for  to  grin  an'  laugh  all  on  ac 
count  o'  my  feelin's." 

Here  came  a  pause,  in  which  the  singer  sought 
a  moment  of  relaxation,  as  it  would  seem,  in  a 
thoughtful  and  timely  cough. 

"Bym-by  I  come  up  kind  o'  clost  an'  where  that  I 

could  see 

Zeb  was  jumpin'  like  a  rabbit  an'  a-hollerin'  t'  me; 
An'  I  could  see  the  ol'  bear's  home  all  underneath  a 

ledge, 

An'  the  track  of  his  big  moggasins  up  to  the  very  edge. 
I  took  an'  fetched  some  pine-knots  an'  a  lot  of  ol' 

dead  limbs, 
An'  built  a  fire  upon  his  door-step  an'  let  the  smoke 

blow  in; 

134 


Silas    Strong 

An'  then  I  took  a  piece  o'  rope  an'  tethered  Zeb  away 
So's  that  he'd  keep  his  breeches  fer  to  use  another 

day. 
An'   purty   soon    I    listened   an'    I   heard   the   bear 

a-coughin', 
An'  he  sneezed  an'  bellered  out  as  if  he  guessed  he'd 

be  excused. 

All  t'  once  he  bust  out  an*  the  rifle  give  a  yell, 
An'  I  wouldn't  wonder  if  he  thought — " 


The  narrator  was  halted  for  half  a  moment 
by  another  frog  in  his  throat — as  he  explained. 
Then  he  went  on: 

"An'  Zeb  he  tore  away  an'  took  an'  fastened  on  the 

bear, 
An'  they  rolled  down-hill  together,  an'  the  critter 

ripped  the  air, 

An'  I  didn't  dast  t'  shoot  him  for  fear  o'  killin'  Zeb, 
So  I  clubbed  my  rifle  on  the  bear  an'  mellered  up  his 

head." 

Moist  with  perspiration,  Silas  Strong  rose  ana 
stood  by  the  bedside  and  blew.  Fifty  miles 
with  a  boat  on  his  back  could  not  have  taxed 
him  more  severely.  He  answered  a  few  queries 
touching  the  size,  fierceness,  and  fate  of  the  bear. 
Then  he  retreated,  whispering  as  he  left  the 
door,  ''Strong's  ahead." 

Zeb  lay  on  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  Socky, 


Silas    Strong 

being  a  little  timid  in  the  dark,  coaxed  him  to 
lie  between  them,  his  paws  on  the  pillow.  With 
their  hands  on  the  back  of  Zeb,  they  felt  sure 
no  harm  could  come  to  them. 

"Do  you  love  Uncle  Silas?"  It  was  the 
question  of  little  Sue. 

Socky  answered,  promptly,  "Yes;  do  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Hunters  don't  never  wear  good  clothes." 
So  Socky  went  on,  presently,  as  if  apologizing 
to  his  own  spirit  for  the  personal  appearance  of 
his  uncle.  "They  git  'em  all  tore  up  by  the 
bears  an'  panthers." 

"That's  how  he  got  his  pants  tore,"  Sue  sug 
gested,  thinking  of  his  condition  that  day  they 
met  him  on  the  trail. 

"Had  a  fight  with  a  'kunk,"  Socky  answered, 
quickly.  He  had  overheard  something  of  that 
adventure  at  Robin  Lake. 

They  lay  thinking  a  moment.  Then  up  spoke 
the  boy.  "  I  wisht  he  had  a  gold  watch." 

With  Socky  the  ladder  by  which  a  man  rose 
to  greatness  had  many  rounds.  The  first  was 
great  physical  strength,  the  next  physical  ap 
pearance;  the  possession  of  a  rifle  and  the 
sacred  privilege  of  bathing  the  same  in  bear's- 
oil  was  distinctly  another;  symbols  of  splendor, 

136 


Silas   Strong 

such  as  watches,  finger-rings,  and  the  like,  had 
their  places  in  the  ladder,  and  qualities  of  im 
agination  were  not  wholly  disregarded. 

Sue  tried  to  think  of  something  good  to  say 
— something,  possibly,  which  would  explain  her 
love.  It  was  her  first  trial  at  analysis. 

"He  wouldn't  hurt  nobody,"  she  suggested. 

"He  can  carry  a  tree  on  his  back" — so  it 
seemed  to  Socky  .* 

"  He  wouldn't  let  nothin'  touch  us,"  said  Sue, 
still  working  the  vein  of  kindness  which  she  had 
discovered. 

"He's  the  most  terrible  powerful  man  in  the 
world,"  Socky  averred,  and  unconsciously  twist 
ed  the  soft  ear  of  Zeb  until  the  latter  gave  a 
little  yelp  of  complaint. 

"  He  can  kill  bears  an'  panthers  an'  deers  an' 
— an'  ketch  fish,"  said  Sue. 

"He  could  swaller  a  whale,"  Socky  declared, 
as  he  thought  of  the  story  of  Jonah. 

"Aunt  Sinthy  has  got  a  hole  in  her  shoe." 
The  girl  imparted  this  in  a  whisper. 

Both  felt  the  back  of  Zeb  and  were  silent  for 
a  little. 

"She  blubbers!"  Socky  exclaimed,  with  a 
slight  touch  of  contempt  in  the  way  he  said 
it. 

i37 


Silas    Strong 

"Maybe  she  got  her  feet  wet  and  Uncle  Silas 
spanked  her." 

"Big  folks  don't  get  spanked,"  the  boy  as 
sured  Sue. 

"Do  you  like  her?" 

He  answered  quickly,  as  if  the  topic  were  a 
bore  to  him,  "Purty  well." 

Sue  had  hoped  for  greater  frankness.  Her 
own  opinion  of  her  Aunt  Cynthia,  while  favor 
able,  was  unsettled.  She  thought  of  a  thing 
in  connection  with  her  aunt  which  had  given 
her  some  concern.  She  had  been  full  of  won 
der  as  to  its  hidden  potentialities. 

In  a  moment  Sue  broached  the  subject  by 
saying,  "She's  got  a  big  mold  on  her  neck." 

"  With  a  long  hair  on  it,"  Socky  added.  "  Bet 
you  wouldn't  dast  pull  that  hair." 

Sue  squirmed  a  little.  That  single  hair  had, 
somehow,  reminded  her  of  the  string  on  a  jump- 
ing-jack.  She  reflected  a  moment. 

"I  put  my  finger  on  it,"  said  she,  boast 
fully. 

"That's  nothing,"  Socky  answered.  "Uncle 
Silas  let  me  feel  the  shot  what  he  got  in  his  arm. 
Gee,  it*was  kind  o'  funny."  He  squirmed  a 
little  and  thoughtfully  felt  his  foot. 

Sue  recognized  the  superior  attraction  of  the 

138 


Silas   Strong 

buried  shot  and  held  her  peace  a  moment. 
Both  had  begun  to  yawn. 

"Wisht  it  was  t '-morrow/'  said  Sue. 

"Why?" 

"  'Cause  I'm  going  to  see  the  beautiful  lady." 

"An'  the  crow,  too,"  Socky  whispered. 

They  were,  indeed,  to  see  her  sooner  than  they 
knew — in  dreamland. 

Zeb  now  retired  discreetly  to  the  foot  of  the 
bed. 

After  a  little  silence  Sue  put  her  arms  about 
her  brother's  neck  and  pressed  him  close. 

"Wisht  I  was  in  heaven,"  she  said,  drowsily, 
with  a  little  cry  of  complaint. 

"Why?" 

"So  I  could  see  my  mother." 

"She's  way  up  a  million  miles  beyond  where 
the  hawks  fly,"  said  the  boy,  as  he  gaped  wearily. 

Thereafter  the  room  was  silent,  save  for  the 
muffled  barking  of  Zeb  in  his  slumber.  He,  too, 
was  dreaming,  no  doubt,  of  things  far  away. 


XIV 

HEY  were  a  timely  arrival — those 
new  friends  who  had  found  Edith 
Dunmore.  She  was  no  longer  sat 
isfied  with  the  narrow  world  in 
which  her  father  had  imprisoned 
her,  and  had  begun  to  wander  alone  as  if  in  quest 
of  a  better  one.  That  hour  of  revelation  on 
the  shore  of  Birch  Cove  led  quickly  to  others 
quite  as  wonderful. 

She  had  no  sooner  reached  home  than  she 
told  her  grandmother  of  the  young  man  and  the 
children  who  had  come  with  him  to  the  shore  of 
Catamount  and  of  a  strange  happiness  in  her 
heart.  It  was  then  that  a  sense  of  duty  in  the 
old  Scotchwoman  broke  away  from  promises  to 
her  son  which  had  long  suppressed  it. 

As  they  sat  alone,  together,  the  old  lady  talked 
to  her  granddaughter  of  the  mysteries  of  life  and 
love  and  death.  Much  in  this  talk  the  girl  had 
gathered  for  herself,  by  inference,  out  of  books — 
mostly  fairy  tales  that  her  father  had  brought  to 

140 


Silas   Strong 

her — and  out  of  the  evasions  which  had  greeted 
her  questioning  and  out  of  her  own  heart. 

Her  queries  followed  one  another  fast  and 
were  answered  freely.  She  learned,  among  other 
things,  a  part  of  the  reason  for  their  lonely  life — 
that  her  father  was  not  like  other  men,  not  even 
like  himself;  that  their  isolation  had  been  a 
wicked  and  foolish  error;  that  men  were  not, 
mostly,  children  of  the  devil  seeking  whom  they 
might  destroy,  but  kindly,  giving  and  desiring 
love;  that  she,  Edith  Dunmore,  had  a  right  to 
live  like  the  rest  of  God's  children,  and  to  love 
and  be  loved  and  given  in  marriage  and  to  have 
her  part  in  the  world's  history. 

All  this  and  much  good  counsel  besides  the 
old  lady  gave  to  the  girl  who  sat  a  long  time 
pondering  after  her  grandmother  had  left  her. 

In  the  miracle  of  birth  and  the  storied  change 
that  follows  dissolution  she  saw  the  magic  of 
fairyland.  To  her  Paristan  had  been  much  more 
real  than  the  republic  in  which  she  lived. 

She  longed  for  the  hour  to  come  when  she 
should  again  see  those  wonderful  children  and 
the  still  more  wonderful  being  who  had  brought 
them  in  his  canoe. 

Next  morning  she  set  out  early  in  the  trail 
to  Catamount  with  her  little  guide  and  com- 

141 


Silas   Strong 

panion.  She  had  named  him  Roc,  after  the 
famous  bird  of  Oriental  tradition.  She  arrived 
there  long  before  the  hour  appointed.  Slowly 
she  wandered  to  the  trail  over  which  Master  and 
the  children  would  be  sure  to  come.  She  ap 
proached  the  camp  at  Lost  River  and  stood 
peering  through  thickets  of  young  fir.  She  saw 
the  boy  and  girl  at  play,  and  watched  them. 
Soon  Master  came  out  of  one  of  the  cabins. 
Now,  somehow,  she  felt  a  greater  fear  of  him 
than  before,  yet  she  longed  to  look  into  his  face 
— to  feel  the  touch  of  his  hand. 

The  crow  had  taken  his  perch  in  a  small  tree 
beside  his  mistress.  He  seemed  to  be  looking 
thoughtfully  at  the  children,  with  now  and  then 
a  little  croak  of  criticism  or  of  amusement,  end 
ing  frequently  in  a  sound  like  half -suppressed 
laughter.  He  raised  a  foot  and  slowly  scratched 
his  head,  a  gaze  of  meditation  deepening  in  his 
eyes.  Suddenly  his  interest  seemed  to  grow 
keener.  He  moved  a  step  aside,  rose  in  the  air, 
and  approached  the  children.  Darting  to  the 
ground,  he  picked  up  a  little  silver  compass 
which  one  of  them  had  dropped,  and  quickly 
returned  with  it.  The  children  called  to  Master, 
and  all  three  followed  the  crow.  His  mistress, 
scarcely  knowing  why,  had  run  up  the  trail,  and 

142 


Silas    Strong 

Roc  pursued  her  with  foot  and  wing,  croaking 
urgently,  as  if  his  life  and  spoil  depended  on 
their  haste.  Reaching  a  thicket  beside  the  trail, 
she  hid  under  its  sheltering  cover  and  sat  down 
to  rest.  The  crow,  following,  scrambled  upon  her 
shoulder  and  dropped  the  bit  of  silver  into  her 
lap.  She  held  his  beak  to  keep  him  quiet  when 
Master  and  the  children  came  near,  but  as  the 
latter  were  passing  they  could  hear  the  smoth 
ered  laughter  of  Roc. 

In  a  moment  Socky  and  Sue  ran  to  their  new 
friend,  while  Master  waited  near  them.  The 
crow  spread  his  wings  and  seemed  to  threaten 
with  a  scolding  chatter.  The  girl  threw  the  bird 
in  the  air  and  took  the  hands  of  the  children  and 
drew  them  to  her  breast.  She  held  them  close 
and  looked  into  their  faces. 

"Dear  fairies!"  said  she,  impulsively  kissing 
them. 

"Tell  us  where  the  cranes  go  with — with  the 
young  fairies,"  Sue  managed  to  say,  her  hands 
and  voice  trembling. 

Miss  Dunmore  sat  looking  down  sadly  for  a 
little  before  she  answered.  Sue, -curiously,  felt 
"the  lady's"  cheeks  that  were  now  rose-red  and 
beautiful. 

"I  will  tell  you  what  my  father  says,"  the 
143 


Silas    Strong 

latter  began.  "The  cranes  take  them  to  Slum- 
bercity  on  a  great  marsh  and  put  them  in  their 
nests.  The  heads  of  the  young  fairies  are  bald 
and  smooth  and  the  cranes  sit  on  them  as  if  they 
were  eggs.  By-and-by  wonderful  thoughts  and 
dreams  come  into  them  so  that  the  fairies  wake 
up  and  begin  crying  for  they  are  very  hungry. 
They  remember  the  spring  of  milk,  but  they 
are  so  young  and  helpless  they  can  only  reach  out 
their  hands  and  cry  for  it.  Some  of  the  cranes 
stand  on  one  leg  in  the  marsh  and  listen.  The 
moment  they  hear  the  young  fairies  crying  they 
fly  away  to  find  mothers  for  them.  The  un 
happy  little  things  are  really  not  fairies  any 
more  —  they  are  babies.  Some  of  the  cranes 
come  and  dance  around  the  nest  to  keep  them 
quiet,  and  the  babies  sit  up  and  open  their  eyes 
and  begin  to  laugh,  it  is  so  very  funny.  And 
that  night  a  big  crane  sits  by  the  side  of  each 
baby  and  the  baby  creeps  on  his  back  and  rides 
away  to  his  mother.  And  he  is  so  weary  after 
his  ride  that  he  sleeps  and  is  scarcely  able  to  move, 
and  when  he  wakes  and  smiles  and  laughs,  he  re 
members  how  the  cranes  danced  in  the  marsh." 
Curiously,  silently,  the  children  looked  into 
her  face,  while  she,  with  wonder  equal  to  their 
own,  put  her  arms  around  them. 

144 


Silas    Strong 

"My  father  says  that  there  are  no  people — 
that  we  are  really  nothing  but  young  fairies 
asleep  and  dreaming  up  in  the  tops  of  the  trees, 
and  that  the  fairy  heaven  is  not  here." 

She  gazed  into  the  eyes  of  the  boy  a  moment, 
all  unconscious  of  his  mental  limitations.  Then 
she  added,  "You're  nothing  but  a  big  fairy— 
you're  so  very  young." 

Socky  drew  away  with  a  look  of  injury  and 
threw  out  his  chest. 

"I'm  six  years  old,"  he  answered,  with  dig 
nity.  "In  a  little  while  I'll  be  a  man." 

Miss  Dunmore  drew  them  close  to  her  and 
said,  "  I  wish  I  could  take  you  home  with  me." 

"Have  you  any  maple  sugar  there?"  the  little 
girl  inquired. 

"Yes,  and  a  tame  fox  and  a  little  fawn." 

"But  you  'ain't  got  no  Uncle  Silas,"  said  the 
boy,  boastfully. 

"Ner  no  Aunt  Sinth,"  Sue  ventured.  Then, 
with  her  tiny  fingers,  she  felt  the  neck  of  "the 
beautiful  lady"  to  see  if  there  were  a  "mold" 
on  it.  She  was  thinking  of  one  of  the  chief  at 
tractions  of  her  aunt.  In  a  moment  she  added, 
"Ner  no  Uncle  Robert."  They  had  begun  to 
call  him  Uncle  Robert. 

"Is  he  the  man  I  saw?"  the  maiden  asked. 
145 


Silas  Strong 

Both  children  nodded  affirmatively. 

"Do  you  love  him?" 

"  Yes ;  would  you  like  to  take  him  home  with 
you,  too?"  Socky  asked,  with  a  look  of  deep  in 
terest.  If  they  were  to  go  he  would  wish  to 
have  his  new  uncle  with  them,  and  Sue  saw  the 
point. 

"  He  can  carry  you  on  his  back  and  growl  jes' 
like  a  bear,"  she  urged.  "  He  can  put  his  mouth 
on  your  cheek  and  make  such  a  funny  noise." 

Miss  Dunmore  looked  away,  blushing  red. 
It  was  a  curious  kind  of  love-making.  She 
whispered  in  the  ear  of  the  little  girl,  "Would 
you  let  me  have  him?" 

Sue  looked  up  into  her  eyes  doubtfully. 

"  She  wants  our  Uncle  Robert,"  Socky  guessed 
aloud. 

"But  not  to  keep?"  Sue  questioned,  as  if  it 
were  not  to  be  thought  of. 

The  eyes  of  the  children  were  looking  into 
those  of  "the  beautiful  lady." 

"I  couldn't  have  him?"  the  latter  asked. 

"We'll  give  you  our  coon,"  Sue  suggested,  by 
way  of  compromise. 

"  I  am  sure  he — your  uncle — would  not  go 
with  me,"  Miss  Dunmore  suggested. 

Socky  seemed  now  to  think  that  the  time  had 
146 


Silas   Strong 

come  for  authoritative  information.     He  broke 
away  and  called  to  his  new  uncle. 

The  maiden  rose  quickly,  blushing  with  sur 
prise.  She  turned  away  as  Robert  Master  came 
in  sight,  and  stood  for  half  a  moment  looking 
down.  Then,  stooping,  she  picked  a  wild  flower 
and  timidly  offered  it.  The  act  was  full  of 
childish  simplicity.  It  spoke  for  her  as  her 
tongue  could  not.  Knowledge  acquired  since 
she  saw  him  last  had  possibly  increased  her 
shyness. 

"She  wants  you,"  said  the  boy,  with  vast 
innocence,  while  he  looked  up  at  the  young 
man. 

"I  wish  I  could  believe  it  were  true,"  said 
Master,  as  he  came  nearer  by  a  step  to  the  daugh 
ter  of  the  woodland. 

She  turned  with  a  look  of  fear  and  said,  "I 
must  go,"  as  she  ran  to  the  trail,  followed  by 
Roc. 

A  little  distance  away  she  turned,  looking 
back  at  the  young  man.  Something  in  her  eyes 
told  of  a  soul  beneath  them  lovelier  than  its 
nobly  fashioned  house.  Moreover,  they  pro 
claimed  the  secret  which  she  would  fain  have 
kept. 

"Shall  we  shake  hands?"  he  asked. 
i47 


Silas   Strong 

She  took  a  step  towards  him  and  stopped. 

"No,"  she  answered. 

"I  must  see  you  again,"  said  Master,  with 
passionate  eagerness,  fearing  that  she  was  about 
to  leave. 

She  looked  down  but  made  no  answer.  The 
children  put  their  arms  about  her  knees  as  if  to 
detain  her. 

"You  will  not  forget  to  come  Thursday?"  he 
added. 

"The  beautiful  lady"  stood  looking  at  him, 
her  left  hand  upon  her  chin,  her  arms  bare  to  the 
elbows.  A  smile,  an  almost  imperceptible  nod, 
and  the  eloquence  of  her  eyes  were  the  only  an 
swer  she  gave  him,  but  they  were  enough. 

"Will  you  not  speak  to  me?"  the  young  man 
urged,  as  he  came  nearer. 

She  stood  looking,  curiously,  until  he  could 
almost  have  touched  her.  Then,  gently,  she 
pushed  the  children  away  and  fled  up  the  trail, 
her  pet  following.  In  a  moment  she  had  gone 
out  of  sight. 

She  was  like  the  spirit  of  the  woodland — 
wild,  beautiful,  silent. 


XV 


HERE  was  a  great  marsh  around 
a  set-back  leading  off  the  still 
water  near  Lost  River  camp.  There 
the  children  had  seen  many  cranes, 
and  they  did  not  forget  that  certain 
of  them  had  stood  upon  one  leg.  After  supper 
that  evening  they  sat  together  whispering  awhile 
and  presently  stole  away.  There  was  a  trail  for 
frog-hunters  that  led  to  their  destination.  They 
ran,  eagerly,  and,  just  as  the  sun  was  going  down, 
stopped  on  a  high  bank  overlooking  the  marshes. 
It  was  a  broad  flat  covered  with  pools  and  tall 
grasses  and  bogs,  crowned  with  leaves  of  the 
sweet-flag  and  with  cattails  and  pussy-willows. 
Now  it  was  still  and  hazy.  The  pools  were  like 
mirrors  with  the  golden  glow  of  the  sky  and  soft, 
dark  shadows  in  them. 

Far  out  on  the  marsh  they  discovered  a  crane 
strolling  leisurely  among  the  bogs,  and  began  to 
chatter  about  him. 

They  looked  and  listened  until  the  sun  had 
149 


Silas    Strong 

gone  below  the  tops  of  the  trees.  Then  cranes 
came  flying  homeward  out  of  the  four  skies,  and, 
one  by  one,  lighted  on  the  edge  of  a  bog  some 
two  or  three  hundred  feet  from  the  children. 
Sue  uttered  a  little  cry  of  joy.  The  cranes  stood 
motionless  with  heads  up. 

"  They  're  listening,"  Socky  assured  his  sister. 

Bull-frogs  had  begun  croaking  and  a  mud-hen 
was  making  a  sound  like  that  of  a  rusty  pump. 
The  children  now  sat  on  the  side  of  the  bank  and 
leaned  forward  straining  their  eyes  and  ears. 

Soon  the  far,  shrill  cry  of  some  little  animal 
rang  above  the  chorus  of  the  marsh.  The  chil 
dren  took  it  to  be  a  baby,  and  seemed  almost  to 
writhe  with  suppressed  laughter  mingled  with 
hopeful  and  whispered  comment.  In  his  ex 
citement  Socky  slipped  off  his  perch  and  came 
near  rolling  down  the  side  of  the  bank.  One  of 
the  cranes  began  to  shuffle  about,  his  wings  half 
open,  like  an  awkward  dancer.  Soon  the  whole 
group  of  birds  seemed  to  be  imitating  him,  and 
each  shuffled  on  his  long  legs  as  if  trying  to  be 
most  ridiculous.  The  dusk  was  thickening,  and 
the  children  could  only  just  discern  them.  They 
sat  close  together  and  held  each  other's  hands 
tightly,  and  looked  out  upon  the  marsh  and  were 
silent  with  awe  and  expectation.  Suddenly  the 


Silas   Strong 

cranes  scattered  into  the  bushes  and  the  sedge. 
Socky  and  Sue  were  now  watching  to  see  them 
fly.  It  was  almost  dark  and  a  big  moon  seemed 
to  be  peering  through  the  tops  of  the  trees. 
Soon  the  great  birds  strode  slowly  in  single  file 
past  the  wonder-stricken  two. 

"See  the  babies!  See  the  babies!"  Sue  cried 
out. 

They  squirmed  and  shivered  with  awe,  their 

lips  and  eyes  wide  with  amazement.     In  the 

dim  light  they  imagined  that  a  baby  sat  on  the 

back  of  each  crane.     Sue  had  no  sooner  cried 

out  than  there  came  a  flapping  of  wings  that 

seemed  to  fill  the  sky.     The  feathered  caravan 

I  had  taken  to  the  air  and  were  swinging  in  a  wide 

'  circle   around   the   edge   of   the   marsh.     They 

quickly  disappeared  in  the  gloom. 

"Gone  to  find  mothers  for  'em,"  said  Socky, 
in  a  trembling  whisper. 

The  children  had  suddenly  become  aware  that 
it  was  quite  dark,  but  neither  dared  speak  of  it. 
They  still  sat  looking  out  upon  the  marsh  and 
clinging  hand  to  hand.  Soon  a  procession  of 
grotesque  and  evil  creatures  began  to  pass  them : 
the  great  bear  of  the  woods  who  had  swallowed 
alive  all  the  little  runaways,  and  who,  having 
made  them  prisoners,  only  let  them  come  out 


Silas   Strong 

now  and  then  to  ride  upon  his  back;  the  big 
panther-bird  who  lured  children  from  their  homes 
with  berries  and  flowers  and  nuts  and,  maybe, 
raisins,  and  who,  when  they  were  in  some  lonely 
place,  dropped  stones  upon  their  heads  and  slew 
them;  odd,  indescribable  shapes,  some  having 
long,  hairy  necks  and  heads  like  cocoa-nuts ;  and, 
lastly,  came  that  awful  horned  creature,  with 
cloven  hoofs  and  the  body  of  a  man,  who  carried 
a  pitchfork  and  who,  soon  or  late,  flung  all  the 
bad  children  into  a  lake  of  fire.  Socky  and  Sue 
covered  their  faces  with  their  hands.  Suddenly 
a  prudent  thought  entered  the  mind  of  the 
boy. 

"I'm  going  to  be  good,"  said  he,  in  a  loud  but 
timid  voice.  "I  love  God  best  of  every  one.*' 
His  sister  gave  a  little  start. 

In  half  a  moment  she  suggested,  her  eyes 
covered  with  her  hands,  "You  don't  love  God 
better  than  Uncle  Silas?" 

Socky  hesitated.  Prudence  and  affection 
struggled  for  the  mastery. 

"Yes,"  he  managed  to  say,  although  with 
some  difficulty.  "Don't  you?" 

Sue  hesitated. 

He  nudged  her  and  whispered,  "Say  yes — 
say  it  out  loud." 

152 


Silas   Strong 

The  word  came  from  Sue  in  a  low,  pathetic 
wail  of  fear. 

"  I  ain't  never  goin'  to  tell  any  more  lies,"  the 
boy  asserted,  in  a  firm,  clear  voice,  "er  swear  er 
run  away." 

They  both  gave  a  cry  of  alarm,  for  Zeb  had 
sprung  upon  them  and  begun  to  lick  their  faces. 
Their  aunt  and  uncle  had  missed  them  and  Zeb 
had  led  his  master  to  where  they  sat. 

Strong  had  heard  the  children  choosing  be 
tween  him  and  their  Creator  and  understood. 
Socky  and  Sue,  after  the  shock  of  Zeb's  sudden 
arrival,  were  encouraged  by  his  presence  and 
began  to  take  counsel  together. 

"We  better  go  home,"  said  Socky. 

"  What  if  we  meet  something?" 

"Pooh!  I'll  crook  my  finger  to  him  an*  say, 
'Sile  Strong  is  my  uncle,'"  Socky  answered, 
confidently.  "You'll  see  him  run  fast  enough." 

It  was  a  formula  which  his  uncle  had  taught 
him,  and  he  had  tried  it  upon  a  deer  and  a  hedge 
hog  with  eminent  success. 

The  Emperor  had  planned  to  give  them  a 
scare  by  way  of  punishment,  but  now  he  had 
no  heart  for  severity.  He  walked  through  the 
bushes  whistling.  He  said  not  a  word  as  he 
knelt  before  them — indeed,  the  man  dared  not 


Silas  Strong 

trust  himself  to  speak.  With  cries  of  joy  they 
climbed  upon  his  shoulders  and  embraced  him. 
Strong  rose  and  slowly  carried  them  through  the 
dark  trail.  He  could  not  even  answer  their 
questions.  He  was  thinking  of  their  faith  in 
him — of  their  love,  the  like  of  which  he  had 
never  known  or  dreamed  of  and  was  not  able  to 
understand.  Sinth  was  out  with  a  lantern  when 
they  returned.  The  children  were  asleep  in  his 
arms. 

"Sh-h-h!  Don't  scold,  sister,"  said  he,  in  a 
voice  so  gentle  it  surprised  himself.  They  put 
the  children  to  bed  and  walked  to  the  cook-tent. 
Strong  told  of  all  he  had  heard  them  say. 

"I  dunno  but  you'll  have  to  whip  'em,"  said 
Sinth. 

Strong  was  drying  the  little  boots  of  the  boy. 
He  touched  them  tenderly  with  his  great  hand. 
He  smiled  and  shook  his  head  and  slowly  stam 
mered,  "  If  we're  g-goin'  t'  be  g-good  'nough  t' 
's-sociate  with  them  we  got  t'  wh-whip  our 
selves." 

He  rose  and  put  a  stick  of  wood  on  the 
fire. 

"Th-they  think  I'm  m-most  as  good  as  God," 
he  added,  huskily,  and  then  he  went  out-of- 
doors. 


Silas    Strong 

Before  going  to  bed  that  night  he  made  this 
entry  in  his  memorandum-book: 

"  Strong  won't  do     he'll  have  to  be  tore  down  an' 
built  over." 


XVI 


HE  Migleys  had  engaged  Strong 
to  take  them  out  of  the  woods 
next  day.  They  were  going  to  the 
Fourth-of-July  celebration  at  Hills- 
borough.  Master  was  going  also, 
for  he  was  to  be  orator  of  the  day.  Strong,  hear 
ing  the  talk  of  the  others,  had  "got  to  wishin'," 
as  Sinth  put  it,  and  had  finally  concluded  to  go 
on  to  Hillsborough  and  witness  the  celebration. 
So  Master  had  sent  for  his  guide  to  come  and 
stay  at  Lost  River  camp  until  the  return  of 
Silas. 

The  Emperor  was  getting  ready  to  go.  Some 
one  had  told  him  that  a  man  at  Hillsborough 
was  buying  coons  and  foxes  for  the  zoological 
gardens  in  New  York.  He  considered  whether 
he  had  better  take  his  young  pet  coon  with  him. 
In  that  hour  of  expanding  generosity  when  he 
had  broken  his  bank,  as  the  saying  goes,  he  had 
forgotten  his  new  responsibilities.  There  were 
the  children,  and  that  necessity  which  often 

156 


Silas   Strong 

awoke  him  at  night  and  whispered  of  impending 
evil — he  must  leave  his  old  home  and  find  a  new 
one  somewhere  in  the  forest.  The  little  people 
would  need  boots  and  dresses,  and  why  shouldn't 
they  have  a  rocking-horse  or  some  cheering  toy 
of  that  character?  Such  reflections  began  to 
change  —  to  amend,  as  it  were  —  his  view  of 
money. 

Furthermore,  Sinth  had  no  respect  for  coons. 
Ever  since  the  Emperor  had  captured  him,  much 
of  her  ill  -  nature  had  been  focussed  upon  the 
coon. 

"W- woods  g-goin',"  he  mused,  as  he  fed  the 
little  creature.  "W-we  got  t'  git  t-tame." 

''You  better  take  him  along,"  said  Sinth,  as 
she  came  out  of  the  cook- tent.  "Jim  Warner 
got  ten  dollars  for  a  coon  down  to  Canton  las' 
summer." 

"C-come  on,  Dick,"  said  the  hunter,  with 
some  regret  in  his  tone  as  he  fastened  the  coon's 
cage  upon  his  basket. 

Strong  looped  a  cord  through  the  wire  and 
the  buckles  of  both  shoulder-braces.  Master 
had  taken  the  river  route,  and  would  drive  to 
Hillsborough  from  Tupper's.  Strong  and  the 
Migleys  were  going  out  through  Pitkin.  The 
"sports"  had  been  on  their  way  for  more  than 


Silas    Strong 

half  an  hour.  Strong  put  his  arms  in  the  straps 
and  followed  them.  He  turned  in  the  trail  and 
called  back: 

"  B -better  times !"  he  shouted.  It  was  a  cheer 
ful  sentiment  which  he  often  expressed  in  mo 
ments  of  parting  with  Sinth. 

"Don't  believe  it,"  Sinth  answered. 

"  You  s-see,"  he  insisted,  and  then  he  disap 
peared  in  the  timber. 

As  the  travellers  went  on,  the  Migleys  ex 
hibited  increasing  respect  for  the  law  of  gravi 
tation.  They  gave  their  coats  to  the  Emperor, 
who  studiously  kept  as  far  ahead  or  behind 
them  as  possible  to  avoid  conversation.  He  was 
"tongue  weary,"  and  told  them  so. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  they  came  to  a  new 
lumber-camp.  "The  Warren  job"  had  pushed 
its  front  across  the  old  trail.  What  desolation 
had  fallen  where  Strong  passed,  two  weeks  be 
fore,  in  the  shadow  of  the  primeval  wood!  Its 
green  roof  lay  in  scraggled,  withering  heaps ;  the 
under  thickets  had  been  cut  away ;  the  ferns  lay 
flat,  blackening  on  the  sunburned  soil.  An  old 
skeleton  of  pine  lifted  its  broken  arms  high  above 
the  scene  of  desolation,  and  one  could  hear  its 
bones  creak  and  rattle  in  the  breezy  heavens. 

Great  shafts  of  spruce  and  pine  were  being 
158 


Silas    Strong 

sawed  into  even  lengths  and  hauled  to  a  skid- 
way.  Busy  men  looked  small  as  ants  in  the 
edge  of  the  high  forest.  Some  swayed  in  pairs, 
" pulling  the  briar,"  as  woodsmen  say  of  those 
who  work  with  a  saw. 

Strong  and  the  Migleys  halted  to  watch  the 
downfall  of  a  great  pine.  Soon  the  sawyers  put 
their  wedge  in  the  slit  and  smote  upon  it.  The 
sheet  of  steel  hissed  back  and  forth.  Then  a  few 
blows  of  the  axe.  The  men  gave  a  shout  of  warn 
ing  and  drew  aside.  The  great  tree  began  to  creak 
and  tremble.  Slowly  it  bent  and  groaned;  its 
long  arms  seemed  to  clutch  at  the  air.  Then  it 
pitched  headlong,  its  top  whistling,  its  heavy 
stem  shaking  the  ground  upon  which  it  fell.  A 
voice  of  thunder  seemed  to  proclaim  its  fate. 
The  axemen  lopped  off  its  branches,  and  soon 
the  long  column  lay  stark,  and  the  growth  of 
two  centuries  had  come  to  its  end.  Strong  and 
his  companions  stood  a  moment  longer  watching 
the  scene. 

"Huh!"  the  Emperor  grunted,  with  a  sorry 
look  as  they  passed  on. 

Near  sundown  they  came  into  the  cleared 
land — the  sandy,  God-forsaken  barrens  of  Tif- 
ton,  robbed  of  root  and  branch  and  soil,  of 
their  glory,  and  the  one  crop  nature  had  de- 


Silas   Strong 

signed  for  them.  The  travellers  passed  a  de 
serted  cabin  on  a  hot,  stony  hill.  In  its  door- 
yard  they  could  see  a  plough  and  an  old  wagon 
partly  overgrown  with  weeds.  Some  one  had 
tried  to  live  on  the  spoiled  earth  and  had  come 
to  discouragement.  Where  ten  thousand  men 
could  have  found  healing  and  refreshment  there 
was  not  enough  growing  to  feed  a  dozen  sheep. 
Here  a  part  of  the  great  inheritance  of  man  had 
been  forever  ruined.  Strong  spoke  of  the  pity 
of  it. 

*"  Can't  be  helped,"  said  the  elder  Migley. 
"A  man  has  a  right  to  cut  and  sell  his  timber." 

Strong  made  no  question  of  that,  claiming 
only  that  the  cutting  should  be  "reg'lated,"  an 
expression  which  he  rarely  took  the  trouble  to 
explain.  It  stood  for  a  meaning  well  considered 
— that  the  forest  belonged  to  the  people,  the 
timber  to  the  owner  of  the  land;  that  the  right 
of  the  owner  should  be  subject  to  restraint. 
He  should  be  permitted  to  cut  trees  of  a  certain 
size  only.  So  the  forest  would  be  made  per 
manent,  and  the  owner  and  the  generations  to 
follow  him  would  get  a  crop  of  timber  every 
eight  or  ten  years. 

The  sun  was  setting  when  they  came  into  the 
little  forest  hamlet.  The  Migleys  put  up  at  the 

1 60 


Silas   Strong 

Pitkin  general  store,  where  one  might  have 
rude  hospitality  as  well  as  merchandise.  There 
Strong  left  pack  and  coon  behind  the  counter 
and  hastened  to  the  home  of  Annette.  The 
comely  young  woman  rose  from  the  supper- 
table  and  took  both  his  hands  in  hers. 

"Strong's  ahead!"  he  answered,  cheerfully, 
as  she  greeted  him. 

In  response  to  her  invitation  he  sat  down  to 
eat.  Her  father  lighted  his  pipe  and  left  them. 
Silas  told  of  the  swishers  and  the  big  trout  and 
the  children. 

"M-me  an'  Sinth  is  b-bein'  cut  over,"  he  re 
marked,  with  a  smile,  as  he  thought  of  the  chil 
dren. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"B-bein'  cleared  an'  p-ploughed  an'  sowed." 

She  laughed  a  little  as  the  Emperor  unfolded 
his  pleasantry.  He  thought  of  his  improved 
account  in  the  matter  of  swearing  and  of  the 
better  temper  of  Sinth. 

"G-gittin'  p-proper,"  he  added. 

Annette  was  amused. 

"G-got  t'  leave  Lost  R-river,"  he  said,  pres 
ently. 

"  Got  to  leave  Lost  River!"  Annette  exclaimed. 

"Ay-ah,"  Strong  answered.  He  looked  down 
161 


Silas   Strong 

for  a  second,  then  he  added,  sorrowfully,  "  G-goin' 
to  tear  down  the  w- woods." 

"It's  an  outrage.  Couldn't  you  go  to  the 
plains?" 

"S-sold  an'  f-fenced." 

"How  about  the  Rag  Lake  country?" 

"B-bein'  cut!" 
'  Annette  shook  her  head  ruefully. 

"W- woods  got  t'  g-go,"  said  Strong,  lean 
ing  forward  and  resting  his  elbows  on  his 
knees. 

"What  '11  you  do?" 

"G-git  tame,"  Strong  answered,  as  he  rose 
and  went  to  the  squirrel  cage  and  began  to  play 
with  his  old  pet.  The  little  animal  came  to 
his  wire  gateway  and  stood  upon  the  palm  of 
the  Emperor's  hand. 

"T- trespasser!"  he  remarked,  stroking  the 
squirrel.  "  Th-they'll  have  me  in  a  c-cage,  too, 
purty  s-soon." 

He  put  the  squirrel  away  and  offered  his  hand 
to  Annette. 

"S-some  day,"  he  whispered. 

"Some  day,"  she  answered,  with  a  sigh. 

"Y-you're  g-goin'  to  hear  me  d-do  some 
t-talkin',"  he  assured  her.  The  Lady  Ann  had 
often  mildly  complained  of  his  reticence. 

162 


Silas    Strong 

They  now  stood  in  front  of  the  little  veranda. 
She  was  looking  up  at  him. 

"It  '11  'mount  to  s-suthin',  t-too,"  he  went  on. 
It  seemed  as  if  he  were  making  an  honest  effort 
to  correct  the  idleness  of  his  tongue.  He  was 
looking  down  at  her  and  groping  in  his  mind  for 
some  other  cheerful  sentiment.  He  seemed  to 
make  this  happy  discovery,  and  added,  "  W-won- 
derful  good  t-times  comin'." 

With  a  full  heart  she  pressed  his  great  hand 
in  both  of  hers. 

"K-keep  ahead,"  said  he,  cheerfully,  and  bade 
her  good-night. 

With  this  he  left  her  and  was  happy,  for  the 
taming  of  Sinth  had  seemed  to  bring  that  "  some 
day"  of  his  promise  into  the  near  future. 

At  the  Pitkin  general  store  his  two  companions 
had  retired  for  the  night,  and  he  joined  a  group 
of  woodsmen  who  occupied  everything  in  the 
place  which  had  a  fairly  smooth  and  accessible 
top  on  it.  They  were  all  in  debt  to  the  store 
keeper  and  seemed  to  entertain  a  regard  for  him 
not  unmingled  with  pity.  This  latter  sentiment 
was,  the  historian  believes,  rather  well  founded. 
They  called  him  "  Billy,"  with  the  inflection  of 
fondness.  Two  sat  slouching,  apologetically,  on 
the  counter.  One  rested  his  weight,  as  tender- 

163 


Silas    Strong 

ly  and  considerately  as  might  be,  on  a  cracker- 
barrel.  Another  reposed  with  a  look  of  greater 
confidence  on  the  end  of  a  nail-keg.  They  were 
guides,  two  of  whom  had  come  out  for  pro 
visions;  the  others,  like  Strong,  were  on  their 
way  to  Hillsborough. 

"  Here's  J:he  old  Emp'ror,"  said  one,  as  Strong 
entered  and  returned  their  greetings  and  sat 
down  astride  the  beam  of  a  plough. 

"I'd  like  to  know  what  he  thinks  of  it,"  said  a 
guide  from  the  Jordan  Lake  country. 

Strong  looked  up  at  him  without  a  word. 

"A  millionaire  has  bought  thirty  thousand 
acres  alongside  o'  my  camp,"  the  guide  ex 
plained.  •"  He  won't  let  me  cross  on  the  old  trail. 
I  had  to  go  six  mile  out  o'  my  way  to  git  here." 

He  smote  the  counter  with  his  fist  and  coupled 
the  name  of  the  rich  man  with  vile  epithets. 

"  My  father  and  my  grandfather  travelled  that 
trail  before  he  was  born,"  the  angry  woodsman 
declared. 

Strong  leaned  forward,  his  elbows  on  his 
knees,  and  looked  at  his  hands  without  speaking. 
One  laughed  loudly,  another  gave  out  a  sym 
pathetic  curse. 

"I'll  git  even  with  him — you  hear  me."  So 
the  aggrieved  party  expressed  himself. 

164 


Silas    Strong 

"How?"  Strong  inquired,  looking  up  sud 
denly. 

"  I'll  git  even.  I'll  send  a  traveller  into  that 
preserve  who'll  put  him  off  it."  He  spoke  with 
a  sinister  suggestion. 

"Huh!"  the  Emperor  grunted.  He  under 
stood  the  threat  of  the  other,  who  clearly  meant 
to  set  the  woods  afire. 

"Ain't  I  right?  What  d'  ye  come  to,  any 
way,  when  ye  think  it  all  over?"  The  words 
came  hot  and  fast  off  the  tongue  of  the  corn- 
plainer. 

"F-fool,"  Strong  stammered,  calmly.  There 
was  something  in  his  way  of  saying  it  that  made 
the  others  laugh. 

A  faint  smile  of  embarrassment  showred  in  the 
face  of  the  angry  woodsman. 

"Me  or  the  millionaire?"  he  inquired. 

"B-both,"  Strong  answered,  soberly,  as  the 
storm  ended  in  a  little  gust  of  laughter. 

Strong  had  stripped  the  guide  of  his  anger  as 
deftly  as  a  squirrel  could  take  the  shell  off  a  nut. 
In  the  brief  silence  that  followed  he  thought  of 
another  maxim  for  his  memorandum-book,  and 
soon  it  was  recorded  therein  as  follows: 

"  Man  that  makes  trouble  sure  to  have  most  of  it." 

165 


Silas    Strong 

Presently  he  who  sat  on  the  cracker-barrel 
remarked,  "  If  them  air  woods  git  afire  now, 
they'll  burn  the  stars  out  o'  heaven." 

All  eyes  turned  upon  the  once  violent  man. 

"Of  course,  I  wouldn't  fire  the  woods,"  he 
muttered.  He  was  now  cool,  and  could  see 
the  folly  and  also  the  peril  which  lay  in  his 
threat.  "I  never  said  I'd  set  the  woods  afire, 
but  the  of  trail  has  been  a  thoroughfare  for  nigh 
a  hunderd  year.  I  believe  I've  got  as  good  a 
right  to  use  it  as  he  has." 

"Th- think  so?"  the  Emperor  inquired. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Then  d-do  it,"  Strong  answered,  dryly. 
There  was  much  in  those  three  words  and  in 
the  look  of  the  speaker.  It  said,  plainly,  that 
the  other  was  to  do  what  he  thought  to  be  right 
and  never  what  he  knew  to  be  wrong. 

"Lumbermen  are  more  to  blame,"  said  an 
other.  "Where  they've  been  nobody  wants 
to  go.  They  cut  everything  down  t'  the  size  o* 
yer  wrist  an*  leave  the  soil  covered  with  tinder- 
stacks.  They  think  o1  nothin'  but  the  profit. 
Case  o'  fire,  woods  'round  'em  wouldn't  hev  a 
ghost  of  a  show." 

"Look  at  the  Weaver  tract,"  said  he  who  sat 
on  the  nail-keg.  "  Four  thousand  acres  o'  dead 

166 


Silas    Strong 

tops  —  miles  on  'em  —  an'  all  as  dry  as  gun 
powder.  If  you  was  t'  touch  a  match  there 
ye'd  have  to  run  fer  yer  life." 

"  Go  like  a  scairt  deer,"  said  he  of  the  cracker- 
barrel.  "Tore  it  stopped  I  guess  ye'd  think 
the  world  was  afire." 

"W- woods  g-goin',"  said  the  Emperor,  sadly. 

He  thought  of  the  cold  springs  at  which  he 
had  refreshed  himself  in  the  heat  of  the  summer 
day  and  which  were  to  perish  utterly ;  he  thought 
of  the  brooks  and  rivers,  slowing  their  pace  like 
one  stricken  with  infirmity,  and,  by-and-by, 
lying  dead  in  the  sunlight — lying  in  a  chain  of 
slimy  pools  across  the  great  valley  of  the  St. 
Lawrence;  he  thought  of  green  meadows  which, 
soon  or  late,  would  probably  wither  into  a  desert. 

"  What  '11  become  of  us  ?"  said  he  on  the  nail-keg. 

"  Have  t'  be  sawed  an'  trimmed  an*  planed  an' 
matched  an'  go  into  town."  It  was  the  voice 
above  the  cracker-barrel. 

"Not  me,"  said  the  occupant  of  the  nail-keg. 
"  Too  many  houses  an'  folks  an'  too  much  noise. 
Couldn't  never  stan'  it." 

"Village  is  a  cur'ous  place,"  said  another, 
who  had  never  been  sober  when  he  saw  it. 
"Steeples  an'  buildin's  an'  folks  reel  'round  in 
pairs.  Seems  so  the  sidewalk  flowed  like  a 

167 


Silas    Strong 

river,  an*  nothin*  start's  still  long  'nough  so  ye 
can  see  how  't  looks." 

The  speaker  was  interrupted  by  the  proprietor 
of  the  Pitkin  general  store,  who  came  down 
stairs  and  flung  himself  on  the  top  of  the  counter, 

"  Goin'  t'  the  Fourth?"  said  he  of  the  cracker- 
barrel. 

"  Might  as  well — got  t'  hev  a  tooth  drawed." 

"  I've  got  one  that's  been  growlin'  purty 
spiteful,"  said  the  nail-kegger.  "Dunno  but  I 
might  as  well  go  an'  hev  it  tore  out." 

1  I  got  t'  be  snaked,  too,"  said  the  cracker- 
barrel  man. 

"Reg'lar  tooth-drawin*  down  thar  to-morrer," 
said  a  voice  from  the  counter. 

"  Beats  all  how  the  teeth  git  t'  rairin'  up  ev'ry 
circus  an*  Fourth  o'  July,"  said  the  nail-kegger. 
The  laughter  which  now  ensued  seemed,  as 
it  were,  to  shake  everybody  off  his  perch.  The 
counter  and  the  cracker-barrel  expressed  them 
selves  in  a  creak  of  relief,  and  all  went  above- 
stairs  save  the  Emperor.  He  cut  a  few  boughs 
for  a  pillow,  spread  his  blanket  under  the  pine- 
trees,  flung  an  end  of  it  over  his  great  body,  and 
"let  go,"  as  he  was  wont  to  say.  At  any  time 
of  day  or  night  he  had  only  to  lie  down  and 
"let  go,"  and  enjoy  absolute  forget  fulness. 

168 


XVII 


T  the  break  of  day  next  morning, 
Strong  rose  and  called  his  fellow- 
travellers.  Beside  the  turnpike  he 
built  a  fire,  over  which  he  began 
to  cook  fish  and  potatoes  and 
coffee.  When  the  Migleys  had  come,  all  sat 
on  a  blanket  within  reach  of  their  food  and 
helped  themselves  in  a  fashion  almost  as  ancient 
as  the  hills.  Then  Strong  gave  the  coon  his 
share,  and  washed  the  dishes  and  got  his  pack 
ready.  It  was  a  tramp  of  four  miles  to  the 
station  below  Pitkin.  They  arrived  there,  how 
ever,  before  the  sun  was  an  hour  high. 

When  they  were  seated  in  the  end  of  the 
smoking-car,  with  coon  and  pack  beside  them, 
Mr.  Migley  began  to  reveal  the  plans  of  the  great 
king,  Business.  Having  increased  his  territory, 
he  now  felt  the  need  of  adding  to  his  power.  He 
must  have  more  legislation,  for  there  were  to  be 
ruthless  changes  of  the  map.  Those  few  really 
free  and  independent  people  who  dwelt  in  and 
12  169 


Silas    Strong 

near  the  Lost  River  country  were  to  be  his  sub 
jects  and  they  must  learn  to  obey.  At  least  they 
must  not  oppose  him  and  make  trouble.  Gently 
his  envoy  began. 

"You  know,"  said  he,  "there's  to  be  a  new 
member  of  Assembly  in  our  district." 

Strong  nodded. 

"  I  want  my  son  to  go,"  the  elder  Migley  went 
on,  as  he  winked  suggestively.  "He's  going  to 
make  his  home  in  Pitkin,  and  it's  very  necessary 
to  his  plans  that  you  people  should  be  with  him. 
He's  got  the  talent  of  a  statesman.  Ask  any 
body  who  knows  the  boy." 

He  paused  a  moment.  The  Emperor  made 
no  reply. 

"  Level-headed  and  reliable  in  every  spot  an' 
place,  an'  a  good-looker,"  Migley  continued,  as 
if  he  were  selling  a  road-horse,  while  he  nudged 
the  Emperor.  "Look  at  him.  I'd  swap  faces 
with  that  boy  any  day  and  give  him  ten  thou 
sand  dollars  to  boot.  Wouldn't  you?" 

Mr.  Migley  spoke  in  dead  earnest.  He  pinched 
the  knee  of  Strong  and  waited  for  his  reply. 

"  W-wouldn't  fit  me,"  the  Emperor  replied. 

"Pop"  Migley  took  the  answer  as  a  compli 
ment  and  gurgled  with  good  feeling. 

"  Strong,  you're  a  kind  of  a  boss  up  here  in  the 
170 


Silas   Strong 

hills,"  said  he.  "There  isn't  a  jay  in  the  pine 
lands  that  wouldn't  walk  twenty  miles  to  caucus 
if  you  asked  him  to." 

"Dunno,"  Strong  answered,  doubtfully. 

"I  know  what  I'm  talking  about,"  said  the 
lumberman,  with  a  smile.  "I  want  the  vote  o' 
the  town  o'  Pitkin.  If  we  get  that  we  can  give 
'em  all  the  flag." 

Strong  was  not  unaccustomed  to  this  kind  of 
appeal.  There  were  not  many  voters  in  his  town, 
but  they  always  followed  the  Emperor. 

"You  can  get  it  for  us,"  Mr.  Migley  insisted. 

"N-no." 

"Why  not?" 

"I've  promised  to  help  M-Master." 

"Oh,  well,  now,  look  here — you  and  I  ought 
to  be  friends,"  said  Migley.  "We  ought  to 
stand  by  each  other.  You  look  out  for  me  and 
I'll  look  out  for  you." 

As  he  offered  his  alliance,  Migley  tenderly 
pressed  the  shoulder  of  Silas  Strong.  Then  he 
put  his  index-finger  on  that  square  of  latitude 
and  longitude  which  indicated  the  region  of  his 
heart,  and  added,  impressively,  "I  have  the 
reputation  of  being  true  to  my  friends  —  ask 
anybody." 

The  hunter  sat  filling  his  pipe  in  silence. 
171 


Silas   Strong 

"  With  what's  pledged  to  us,  if  we  get  this  town 
we  can  win  easy." 

Strong  began  to  puff  at  his  pipe  thoughtfully. 
Here  sat  a  man  who  could  make  or  break  him. 
His  face  reddened  a  little.  He  shook  his  head. 

Mr.  Migley  had  caught  the  eye  of  a  man  he 
knew — Joe  Socket — postmaster  and  politician 
of  Moon  Lake.  He  rose,  tapped  the  shoulder 
of  Strong,  and  said,  "Think  it  over."  Then  he 
hurried  down  the  aisle  of  the  car. 

He  leaned  over  and  whispered  into  the  ear  of 
Socket,  "  What  kind  of  a  man  is  Strong?" 

"  Square, ' '  said  the  other,  promptly.  "  A  little 
cranky  in  some  ways,  but  you  can  depend  upon 
him.  He'll  do  what  he  says — the  devil  couldn't 
turn  him." 

"He  says  he's  pledged  to  Master — that  chap 
who's  come  up  here  with  a  bag  o'  money.  Do 
you  think  Master  has  bought  him?" 

"  I  don't  think  so.  I  suppose  he  could  be 
bought,  but — but  I  never  knew  of  his  taking 
money.  The  boys  of  the  back  country  swear  by 
the  Emperor ;  they  look  up  to  him.  Fact  is,  Sile 
Strong  is  a good  fellow." 

His  oath  seemed  to  contradict  his  affirmation. 

"He's  like  a  rock,"  said  Migley.  "The  glad 
hand  don't  make  any  impression.  What  ye 

172 


Silas    Strong 

going  to  do  with  a  man  who  won't  drink  or  talk 
or  swap  lies  with  ye  ?  I  could  put  the  poor  devil 
out  of  house  and  home,  but  he  don't  seem  to 
care." 

"We'll  turn  him  over  to  the  Congressman," 
Socket  answered.  "  He'll  bring  him  into  camp. 
If  not  we  can  get  along  without  him." 

The  fact  was  the  "  Emperor  of  the  Woods  " 
was  not  like  any  other  man  they  had  to  deal 
with — in  history,  character,  and  caliber. 

He  used  his  brain  for  a  definite  purpose — "  to 
think  out  thoughts  with,"  as  he  was  wont  to 
say,  and  if  his  heart  approved  of  them  they  were 
right,  and  he  could  no  more  change  them  than  a 
tree  could  change  its  bark  or  its  foliage. 

As  yet  the  arts  and  allies  of  the  flatterer  had 
no  power  over  him.  He  was  content  and  without 
any  false  notion  of  his  own  importance. 


XVIII 

HAT  a  fair  of  American  citizen 
ship  was  on  its  way  to  Hillsbor- 
ough  this  morning  of  the  Fourth 
of  July!  They  that  now  crowded 
the  train  were  like  others  travelling 
on  all  the  main  thoroughfares  of  the  county — • 
farmers  and  their  wives,  rustic  youths  and  their 
sweethearts,  mill-hands  and  mill-owners,  team 
sters,  sawyers,  axemen,  guides,  and  storekeepers. 
They  were  celebrating  a  day's  release  from  the 
tyranny  of  Business,  and  were  not  deeply  moved 
by  the  tyranny  which  their  grandfathers  had 
suffered.  History,  save  that  of  the  present  hour, 
did  not  much  concern  them. 

They  were  mostly  sound-hearted  men.  There 
were  some  who,  in  answer  to  the  charge  that  a 
local  statesman  had  got  riches  in  the  Legislature, 
were  wont  to  say,  "  He'd  be  a  fool  if  he  hadn't." 
He  was  "  a  good  fellow,"  anyhow,  and  they  loved 
a  good  fellow.  All  the  men  of  wealth  and  place 
and  power  were  in  his  favor,  and  had  practised 

174 


Silas    Strong 

upon  them  the  subtle  arts  of  the  friend-maker. 
They  would  not  have  accepted  "  a  bribe  " — these 
good  people  now  on  their  way  to  Hillsborough — 
but  they  could  get  all  kinds  of  favors  from  Joe 
Socket  and  Pop  Migley  and  Horace  Dumay  and 
other  henchmen  of  the  wealthy  boss  and  legis 
lator.  They  had  yielded  to  the  insidious  bri 
beries  of  friendship — warm  greetings  and  hand 
shakes,  loans,  small  sinecures,  compliments, 
pledges  of  undying  esteem  over  clinking  glasses, 
and  similar  condescension.  They  loved  the  for 
est  and  were  sorry  to  see  it  go,  but  many  of  them 
got  their  bread-and-butter  by  its  downfall — 
directly  or  indirectly  —  and  then  Socket,  Du 
may,  and  Migley  were  nothing  more  or  less  than 
lumber,  pulp,  and  water-power  personified.  They 
were  like  the  lords  and  barons  of  the  olden  time 
— less  arrogant  but  more  powerful.  Indeed, 
Strong  was  right — the  tyrant  of  the  modern 
world  is  that  ruthless  giant  that  he  called  "  Busi 
ness,"  and  his  nobles  are  coal,  iron,  cotton,  wool, 
food,  power,  paper,  and  lumber.  These  people 
on  the  edge  of  the  woodland  were  slaves  of 
power,  paper,  and  lumber.  With  able  and  de 
signing  chiefs  this  great  triumvirate  gently  drove 
the  good  people  this  way  and  that,  and  there 
was  a  little  touch  of  irony  in  this  journey  of  the 


Silas  Strong 

latter  to  celebrate  their  freedom  and  indepen 
dence. 

One  who  knew  them  could  not  help  feeling 
that  the  old  martial  spirit  of  the  day  was  wholly 
out  of  harmony  with  their  own.  They  were  a 
peace-loving  people,  purged  of  their  fathers' 
hatred,  and  roars  of  defiance  found  no  echo  in 
any  breast — save  those  overheated  by  alcohol. 

Some  wore  flannel  shirts  and  the  livery  of  a 
woodsman's  toil ;  some,  unduly  urged,  no  doubt, 
by  a  wife  or  sister,  had  ventured  forth  in  more 
conventional  attire.  They  sat,  as  if  posing  for 
a  photograph,  galled,  hot,  gloomy,  suspicious, 
self -suppressed,  silent,  their  necks  hooped  in 
linen,  their  bodies  resisting  the  tight  embrace 
of  new  attire.  In  the  crowd  were  a  number  to 
whom  the  reaping  of  the  ruined  hills,  on  either 
side  of  the  train,  had  brought  wealth  and  an 
air  of  proprietorship.  Most  of  the  crowd  were 
in  high  spirits.  The  sounds  of  loud  talk  and 
laughter  and  the  rankling  smoke  of  cheap  cigars 
filled  the  air  above  them.  A  lank  youth  under 
a  dark,  broad-brimmed  hat,  tilted  backward, 
so  as  neither  to  conceal  nor  disarrange  a  rare 
embellishment  of  curls  upon  his  brow,  entered 
the  car  with  another  like  him.  His  hair  had 
the  ginger-brown,  ringletudinous  look  of  spaniel 


Silas    Strong 

fur.  He  began  to  whistle  loudly  and,  as  it 
would  seem,  prelusively.  In  a  moment  he  was 
in  full  song  on  a  ballad  of  the  cheap  theatres, 
with  sentiment  like  his  hair — frank,  bold,  oily, 
and  outreaching. 

As  the  train  stopped  at  Hillsborough,  Strong 
rose  and  put  on  his  pack  and  left  with  the  crowd, 
coon  in  hand.  The  sidewalks  were  crowded,  and 
Strong  took  the  centre  of  the  street.  There,  at 
least,  was  comparative  seclusion. 

Silas  had  not  travelled  a  block  when,  all  un 
expectedly,  he  became  a  centre  of  attraction. 
A  group  of  whining  dogs  gathered  about  him, 
peering  wistfully  at  the  coon.  They  were  shortly 
reinforced  by  a  number  of  small  boys,  which  grew 
with  astonishing  rapidity.  Cries  of  curiosity  and 
derision  rose  around  him.  Sportsmen  who  had 
visited  his  camp  and  who  recognized  him  shouted 
their  greeting  to  the  "  Emperor  of  the  Woods." 
A  "swisher"  of  some  prominence  in  the  little 
school  of  sportsmanship  at  Lost  River  came  and 
dispersed  the  boys.  The  Emperor  kicked  at  a 
dog  and  ran  a  little  way  in  pursuit  of  him.  He 
came  back  and  set  down  the  coon-cage  and 
shook  hands  with  his  pupil.  Immediately  a  dog, 
approaching  from  behind,  sprang  at  the  cage  and 
tipped  it  over,  and  leaped  upon  it  and  began 

177 


Silas    Strong 

to  claw.  Strong  seized  and  flung  the  dog  away, 
and  as  he  righted  the  cage  its  door  came  open 
and  the  coon  escaped.  Dodging  his  enemy,  the 
little  animal  sought  refuge  in  a  thicket  of  peo 
ple.  Being  pursued  by  dogs,  and  accustomed 
also  to  avoid  peril  by  climbing,  he  straightway 
climbed,  not  a  tree,  but  a  tall  sapling  of  a  youth, 
from  which  the  others  broke  away  in  a  panic. 
They  were  opposite  a  little  park,  and  the  youth, 
not  daring  to  lay  hold  of  the  animal,  fled  among 
the  trees,  pursued  by  Strong  and  two  dogs  and 
a  throng  of  brave  spirits  who  shouted  informa 
tion  as  to  what  he  had  best  do. 

For  half  a  moment  the  frightened  coon  clung 
on  a  shoulder,  his  tail  in  the  air,  growling  at  the 
dogs.  The  latter  leaped  up  at  him,  and  he  be 
gan  to  feel  for  more  altitude.  The  youth,  who 
had  some  knowledge  of  the  nature  of  coons,  ran 
to  the  nearest  tree.  Quickly  the  coon  sprang 
upon  it  and  scrambled  far  out  of  reach.  He  ran 
up  the  smooth  shaft  of  elm  and  settled  on  a 
swaying  bough  some  forty  feet  above  ground. 
A  crowd  of  people  were  now  looking  up  at 
him. 

"Coon  in  a  cage  is  worth  two  in  a  tree,"  a 
man  shouted. 

Strong  sat  down  beneath  the  tree  and  lighted 
178 


Silas    Strong 

his  pipe  and  " thought  out"  another  bit  of  wis 
dom  for  his  memorandum-book.     It  was : 

"  Coon  on  yer  shoulder  worth  less  'n  what  he  is  any 
where." 

He  sat  in  meditation  —  as  if,  indeed,  he  were 
resting  in  the  wilderness.  A  cannon,  not  a  hun 
dred  feet  away,  shook  the  windows  of  Hills- 
borough  with  a  loud  explosion  for  every  star  on 
the  flag.  A  perpetual  fusillade  of  fire-crackers 
seemed  to  suggest  the  stripes.  Accustomed  to 
woodland  silences,  the  Emperor 's  feeling  was,  in 
a  measure,  like  that  of  his  coon.  The  "  morning 
salute"  ended  presently,  and  then  he  uttered  an 
exclamation  which  indicated  clearly  that  he  had 
been  losing  ground  in  his  late  struggle  with 
Satan. 

One  of  the  guides  with  whom  he  had  sat  in 
the  store  at  Pitkin  came  near.  "  Had  yer  tooth 
drawed?"  was  the  question  he  put  to  the  Em 
peror. 

Strong  was  now  looking  at  the  empty  cage. 
"Had  my  coon  d-drawed,"  he  answered. 

"Where  is  he?" 

"Up-s-stairs."  Strong  pointed  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  coon's  refuge. 

Silas  was  now  the  centre  of  an  admiring  com- 
179 


Silas    Strong 

pany.  His  former  pupil  had  brought  the  presi 
dent  of  the  corporation  of  Hillsborough  to  meet 
him.  The  official  invited  Strong  to  participate 
in  the  games.  The  Emperor  was  willing  to  do 
anything  to  oblige,  and  walked  with  his  new 
acquaintance  to  the  public  square. 

A  trial  at  lifting  and  carrying  was  the  first 
number  on  the  programme.  The  contestants 
leaned,  with  hands  behind  them,  while  others 
on  a  raised  platform  began  to  heap  bags  of  oats 
upon  their  backs  and  shoulders.  Loaded  to  the 
limit  of  their  strength,  they  carried  the  burden 
as  far  as  they  were  able  and  flung  it  down.  One 
after  another  tried,  and  the  last  carried  nine 
bags  a  distance  of  seven  feet  and  was  rewarded 
with  many  cheers. 

It  was  Strong's  turn  now.  He  bent  his  broad 
back,  and  the  loaders  began  to  burden  him. 
At  ten  they  stopped,  but  Strong  called  for  more. 
Three  others  were  heaped  upon  him,  and  slowly 
he  began  to  move  away.  One  could  see  only 
his  legs  beneath  his  burden,  which  towered  far 
aboye  him.  Ten  feet  beyond  the  farthest  mark 
he  bore  the  bags  and  let  them  down.  The  peo 
ple  began  cheering,  and  many  came  to  shake  his 
hand  and  feel  the  sinews  in  his  arms  and  shoul 
ders.  Of  the  trial  at  scale-lifting  a  woodsman 

1 80 


Silas   Strong 

who  stood  near  gave  this  illuminating  descrip 
tion,  "  When  they  all  got  through,  Strong  put  on 
two  hundred  more  an'  raised  his  neck  an'  lifted, 
an'  the  bar  come  up  like  a  trout  after  a  fly." 

Silas  Strong  stood,  his  coat  off,  his  trousers 
tucked  in  his  boots,  looking  soberly  at  the  peo 
ple  who  cheered  him.  One  eye  was  wide  open, 
the  other  partly  closed.  There  were  wrinkles 
above  his  wide  eye,  and  his  faded  felt  hat,  tilted 
backward  and  to  one  side,  left  his  face  uncov 
ered.  He  had  a  new  and  grateful  sense  of  being 
"ahead,"  but  seemed  to  wonder  if  so  much 
brute  strength  were  altogether  creditable. 

Master  was  to  address  the  people,  and  Strong 
was  invited  to  sit  behind  the  -speaker's  table 
with  the  select  of  the  county.  He  accompanied 
the  president  of  the  corporation  to  the  platform 
in  the  park,  his  pack-basket  on  his  arm.  More 
than  a  thousand  men  and  women  had  gathered 
in  front  of  them  when  the  chairman  introduced 
the  young  orator. 

The  speech  delighted  Silas  Strong,  and  he 
summed  it  up  in  his  old  memorandum-book  as 
follows : 

"  folks  cant  be  no  better  than  the  air  they  brethe 
41  roots  of  a  plant  are  in  the  ground  but  the  roots  of  a 
man  are  in  his  lungs 

181 


Silas   Strong 

"whair  the  woods  ar  plenty  the  air  is  strong  an  folks 
are  stout  an  supple  like  our  forefathers  when  they 
licked  the  British  them  days  they  got  a  powrful  crop 
of  folks  sometimes  fifteen  in  a  famly 

"now  folks  live  under  a  sky  two  feet  above  their 
heads  an  take  their  air  secont  handed  an  drink  at  the 
bar  instead  of  the  spring  an  eat  more  than  what 
they  earn  an  travel  on  wheels  an  think  so  much  of 
their  own  helth  they  aint  got  no  time  to  think  of 
their  countrys 

"when  a  man's  mind  is  on  his  stummick  it  cant  be 
any  where  else 

"brains  warnt  made  to  digest  vittles  with  old 
fashioned  ways  is  best." 

After  the  address  Strong  went  home  to  din 
ner  with  Congressman  Wilbert,  the  leading  citi 
zen  of  Hillsborough.  That  little  town  still  re 
tained  the  democratic  spirit  of  old  times.  There 
one  had  only  to  be  clean  and  honest  to  be  re 
spectable,  and  the  mighty  often  sat  at  meat 
with  the  lowly.  Strong  declined  the  invitation 
at  first,  on  the  plea  that  he  had  fried  cakes  in 
his  pack-basket,  and  yielded  only  after  some 
urging. 

The  statesman's  wife  received  the  hunter 
cordially  and  presented  him  to  her  daughter. 
The  girl  led  Strong  aside  and  began  to  entertain 
him.  He  had  lost  his  easy,  catlike  stride,  his 
unconscious  control  of  bone  and  muscle.  He 

182 


Silas    Strong 

looked  and  felt  as  if  he  were  carrying  himself 
on  his  own  back.  He  seemed  to  be  balancing 
his  head  carefully,  for  fear  it  would  fall  off,  and 
had  treated  his  hands  like  detached  sundries  in 
a  camp  -  outfit  by  stuffing  them  into  the  side 
pockets  of  his  coat.  Gradually  he  limbered  in 
his  chair  and  settled  down.  His  confidence  grew, 
and  soon  he  "  horsed  "  one  knee  upon  the  other 
and  flung  his  hands  around  it  as  if  to  bind  an 
invisible  burden  resting  on  his  lap.  He  carried 
this  objective  treatment  of  his  own  person  to 
such  an  extreme  that  he  seemed  even  to  be 
measuring  his  breath  and  to  find  little  oppor 
tunity  for  cerebration.  When  the  young  lady 
addressed  him  he  often  answered  with  the  old 
formulas  of  "I  tnum!"  or  "T-y-ty!"  They 
eased  the  responsibility  of  his  tongue,  and, 
without  seriously  committing  him,  expressed  a 
fair  degree  of  interest  and  surprise. 

At  the  table  Strong  behaved  himself  with  the 
utmost  conservatism.  They  treated  him  very 
tenderly,  and  he  found  relief  in  the  fact  that 
his  embarrassment  seemed  not  to  be  observed. 
He  thought  it  the  part  of  politeness  to  refuse 
nearly  everything  that  was  offered  and  to  eat 
in  a  gingerly  fashion. 

The  Congressman  had  often  heard  of  Silas 


Silas    Strong 

and  gave  him  many  compliments,  and  finally 
asked  what,  in  his  opinion,  should  be  done  to 
protect  the  forest.  Briefly  Strong  gave  his 
views,  and  the  other  seemed  to  agree  with  him. 

"  I'll  do  what  I  can  for  the  woods  and  for  you, 
too,"  said  the  statesman.  "You  ought  to  be  a 
warden  with  a  good  salary." 

These  kindly  assurances  flattered  the  "  Em 
peror  of  the  Woods."  Insidiously  the  great 
world  power  was  making  its  most  potent  appeal 
to  him. 

"I  may  ask  you  for  a  favor  now  and  then," 
said  Wilbert.  "I'd  be  glad  if  you'd  do  what 
you  could  to  help  Migley.  He  needs  the  vote 
of  your  town." 

Strong  knew  not  what  to  say.  "M-mind's 
m-made  up,"  he  stammered,  after  a  little  pause. 
When  his  mind  was  "made  up"  he  had  nothing 
further  to  do  but  obey  its  will.  The  other  did 
not  quite  comprehend  his  meaning. 

Strong  in  his  embarrassment  had  put  too 
much  tabasco  sauce  on  his  meat.  He  blew,  ac 
cording  to  his  custom  in  moments  of  distress, 
and  took  a  drink  of  water.  He  looked  thought 
fully  at  the  small  cylinder  of  glass.  He  tried  to 
read  its  label. 

"Small  b-bore,"  he  remarked,  presently. 
184 


Silas    Strong 

"Sh-shoots  w-well,"  he  added,  after  a  moment 
of  reflection. 

Strong  had  begun  to  think  of  his  coon,  now 
clinging  in  a  tree -top.  Suddenly  he  had  be 
come  too  proud  to  try  to  sell  him,  but  he  could 
not  bear  to  abandon  his  old  pet.  So  while  the 
others  talked  together  he  began  to  contrive 
against  the  dogs  of  Hillsborough.  As  he  was 
about  to  leave,  he  asked  Mrs.  Wilbert  where  he 
could  buy  "one  o'  them  1-little  r-red  guns,"  by 
which  he  meant  a  bottle  of  tabasco  sauce.  She 
immediately  sent  a  servant  to  bring  one,  which 
the  Emperor  accepted  with  her  compliments. 
His  host  went  with  him  to  a  store  where  Strong 
invested  some  of  his  prize-money  in  "C'ris'mus 
presents ' ' — so  he  called  them — for  Sinth  and  the 
"little  fawns,"  filling  his  pack  well  above  the 
brim. 

Then,  forthwith,  Strong  proceeded  to  the  coon's 
refuge,  in  the  public  park,  where,  with  the  aid 
of  a  Roman-candle,  as  he  explained  to  Sinth  in 
the  privacy  of  their  cook  -  tent,  he  made  the 
coon  "1-let  go  all  holts."  The  animal  had  been 
clinging  high  in  the  old  elm,  and,  being  stunned 
by  his  fall,  Strong  .caught  and  held  him  firmly 
by  the  nape  of  the  neck  while  he  covered  him 
with  an  armor  of  liquid  fire  from  the  tabasco 
13  185 


Silas  Strong 

bottle.  The  fur  of  back  and  neck  and  shoulders 
had  now  the  power  to  inflict  misery  sharper 
than  a  serpent's  tooth. 

"D-Dick,"  he  whispered,  "Strong  is  'shamed 
o'  y-you.  He  c-can't  'sociate  n-no  more  with 
c-coons  in  this  v-village.  But  he  won't  let  ye 
git  t-tore  up." 

Strong  carried  his  coon  out  of  the  park  and 
let  him  down.  In  Hillsborough  popular  en 
thusiasm  had  turned  from  revelry  to  refresh 
ment.  The  crowd,  having  retired  to  'home  and 
hostelry,  had  left  the  streets  nearly  deserted. 

Strong's  coon  set  out  in  the  direction  of  the 
river,  and  soon  a  bull-dog  laid  hold  of  him.  The 
dog  gave  the  coon  a  shake,  and  began,  as  it  were, 
to  lose  confidence.  He  dropped  the  hot-furred 
animal,  shook  his  head,  and  tarried  the  tenth 
part  of  a  second,  as  if  to  make  a  note  of  the  coon's 
odor  for  future  reference,  and  then  ran  with  all 
speed  to  the  river.  He  heeded  not  the  call  of  his 
master  or  the  jeering  of  a  number  of  small  boys. 
They  were  no  more  to  him  than  the  idle  wind. 

The  coon  proceeded  on  his  way  to  the  woods. 
Farther  on  three  other  dogs  bounded  into 
trouble,  and  rushed  for  water.  The  coon  passed 
two  bridges  and  made  his  way  across  an  open 
field  in  the  direction  of  Turner's  wood. 

1 86 


Silas    Strong 

Strong,  whose  hunger  had  not  been  satisfied, 
bought  some  cake  and  pie,  and  made  for  open 
country  where  he  sat  down  by  the  road-side. 
Tree-tops  above  him  were  full  of  chattering 
birds,  driven  out  of  town  probably  by  its  hide 
ous  uproar. 

The  Emperor,  having  appeased  his  hunger, 
took  half  an  hour  for  reflection.  Before  the 
end  of  it  came  he  began  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life  to  suffer  the  penalty  of  idleness  and  high 
living.  Indigestion,  the  bane  of  towns  and  cities, 
had  taken  hold  of  him.  Before  leaving  he  made 
these  entries  in  his  little  book: 

"  July  the  4 

"This  aint  no  place  for  Strong 

"Man  might  as  well  be  in  Ogdensburg*  as  have  Og- 
densburg  in  him. 

"  Strong's  coon  snaked  out  of  his  cage  contrived  to 
git  even  also  coon  made  free  and  independent." 

His  revenge  was  of  such  lasting  effect  that, 
some  say,  for  a  long  time  thereafter  dogs  in 
Hillsborough  fled  terror-stricken  at  the  sight  of  a 
coon-skin  overcoat. 

*It  should  be  remembered  that  with  the  woods-loving 
and  wholly  mistaken  Emperor,  Ogdensburg  meant  nothing 
less  than  hell. 


XIX 

JEANWHILE  Socky  and  Sue,  in 
Sunday  costume,  had  gone  out 
with  their  aunt  for  a  holiday 
picnic  in  the  forest.  Sinth  had 
been  busy  until  ten  o'clock  pre 
paring  a  sumptuous  dinner  of  roasted  wild  fowl 
and  jelly,  of  frosted  cake  and  sugared  berries 
and  crab-apple  tarts.  They  went  to  the  moss- 
covered  banks  of  a  little  brook  over  in  Pepper 
mint  Valley,  half  a  mile  or  so  from  the  camp. 
Master's  man  carried  their  dinner  and  blankets, 
upon  which  they  could  repose  without  impair 
ing  the  splendor  of  their  dress.  Sinth  had  put 
on  her  very  best  attire — a  sacred  silk  gown  and 
Paisley  shawl  which  had  come  on  a  cheerful 
Christmas  Day  from  her  sister. 

"Might  as  well  show  'em  to  the  birds  an' 
squirrels,"  said  she.  " There  ain't  nobody  else  t' 
dress  up  for  'cept  the  little  fawns." 

The  man  left  them,  to  return  later  for  their 
camp  accessories.  Sinth  played  "I  spy"  and 

1 83 


Silas  Strong 

" Hide  the  penny"  and  other  games  of  her  child 
hood  with  Socky  and  Sue.  She  had  brought 
some  old  story-papers  with  her,  and  when  the 
little  folks  grew  weary  they  sat  down  beside 
her  on  the  blankets  while  she  read  a  tale.  To 
her  all  things  were  "so"  which  bore  the  sacred 
authority  of  print,  and  she  read  aloud  in  a  slow, 
precise,  and  responsible  manner. 

It  was  a  thunderous  tale  she  was  now  reading 
—  a  tale  of  bloody  swords  and  high-sounding 
oaths  and  epithets.  Socky  began  to  feel  his 
weapon.  Master  had  shaped  a  handle  on  a 
piece  of  lath  and  presented  it  for  a  sword  to  the 
little  "  Duke  of  Hillsborough."  Since  then  it  had 
trailed  behind  the  boy,  fastened  by  a  string  to 
his  belt.  He  sat  listening  with  a  serious,  thought 
ful  look  upon  his  face.  At  the  climax  of  the 
tale  he  raised  his  weapon.  Presently,  unable  to 
restrain  his  heroic  impulse,  he  sprang  at  Zeb, 
sword  in  hand,  and  smote  him  across  the  ribs, 
shouting,  "Defend  yourself!"  Zeb  retreated 
promptly  and  took  refuge  in  a  fallen  tree-top, 
out  of  which  he  peered,  his  hair  rising.  Soon  he 
satisfied  himself  that  the  violence  of  the  Duke 
was  not  a  serious  matter.  Socky  ran  upon  him, 
waving  his  sword  and  crying,  in  a  loud  voice, 
"You're  a  coward,  sir!"  Zeb  rushed  through 

189 


Silas    Strong 

the  ferns,  back  and  forth  around  the  boy,  growl 
ing  and  grimacing  as  if  to  show  that  he  could 
be  a  swashbuckler  himself. 

On  his  merry  frolic  he  ran  wide  in  thickets 
of  young  fir.  Suddenly  he  began  barking  and 
failed  to  return.  They  called  to  him,  but  he 
only  barked  the  louder,  well  out  of  sight  be 
yond  the  little  trees.  Socky  went  to  seek  him, 
and  in  a  moment  the  barking  ceased,  but 
neither  dog  nor  boy  came  in  sight  of  the  others. 
Sinth  followed  with  growing  alarm. 

Back  in  a  mossy  glade,  not  a  hundred  feet 
from  where  they  had  been  sitting,  she  stopped 
suddenly  and  grew  pale  with  surprise.  There 
sat  a  beautiful  maiden  looking  down  at  the  boy, 
who  lay  in  her  arms.  Sue,  who  had  followed  her 
aunt,  now  sprang  forward  with  a  cry  of  delight. 
The  maiden  rose,  her  cheeks  crimson  with  em 
barrassment. 

"Oh,  aunt,"  said  the  boy,  as  he  clung  fondly 
to  the  hand  of  Edith  Dunmore,  "this  is  the 
beautiful  lady." 

"What's  your  name?"  Sinth  demanded. 

"Edith  Dunmore."  The  girl's  voice  had  a 
note  of  sadness. 

"My  land!  Do  you  go  wanderin'  all  over 
the  woods  like  a  bear?"  Sinth  inquired. 

190 


Silas   Strong 

The  maiden  turned  away  and  made  no  an 
swer. 

"Land  sakes  alive!  you  'ain't  got  no  business 
goin'  around  these  woods  an'  meetin'  strange 
men." 

"Oh,  silly  bird!"  croaked  the  little  crow  from 
a  bough  near  them. 

" Mercy!"  exclaimed  Sinth,  as  she  looked  up 
at  the  ribboned  crow.  "It's  enough  to  make 
the  birds  talk." 

There  were  tears  in  the  maiden's  eyes,  and 
the  children  glanced  from  her  to  their  aunt, 
sadly  and  reprovingly. 

Sinth,  now  full  of  tender  feeling,  put  her  arms 
around  the  neck  of  the  girl  in  a  motherly  fashion. 
"  Poor,  poor  child!"  said  she,  her  voice  trembling. 
"I've  laid  awake  nights  thinkin'  of  you." 

Something  in  the  tone  and  touch  of  the 
woman  brought  the  girl  closer.  Another  great 
need  of  her  nature  was  for  a  moment  satisfied. 
She  leaned  her  head  upon  the  shoulder  of  Sinth, 
and  her  heart  confessed  its  loneliness  in  tears 
and  broken  phrases. 

"  I — I  followed  you.  I  couldn't — couldn't  help 
it,"  said  she. 

"Poor  girl!"  Sinth  went  on,  as  she  patted  the 
head  of  the  maiden.  "I've  scolded  Mr.  Master. 

191 


Silas   Strong 

He  oughter  let  you  alone,  'less  he's  in  love,  which 
I  wouldn't  wonder  if  he  was." 

"Ah-h-h!"  croaked  the  bird,  as  if  to  attract 
his  mistress. 

"Sakes  alive!"  exclaimed  Sinth,  looking  up 
at  the  crow  with  moist  eyes.  "That  bird  is 
like  a  human  bein'.  Hush,  child,  you  mus' 
come  an'  help  us  celebrate.  Come  on  now; 
we'll  all  set  down  an'  have  our  dinner." 

Socky  and  Sue  stood  by  the  knees  of  the 
lady  looking  up  at  her. 

Gently  the  woman  led  her  new  acquaintance 
to  their  little  camp,  and  bade  her  sit  with  the 
children.  Sinth  had  a  happy  look  in  her  face 
while  she  hurried  about  getting  dinner  ready. 

"  Jes'  straighten  the  end,  please — that's  right," 
said  she  as  Edith  Dunmore  put  a  helping  hand 
on  the  snowy  table-cloth. 

Sinth  began  to  spread  the  dishes,  and  the 
maiden  furtively  embraced  Socky  and  Sue. 
"My  land!  you  do  like  childern — don't  ye?  So 
do  I.  They's  jes'  nothin'  like  'em  in  this  world." 

"Dinner's  ready,"  said  Sinth,  when  all  the 
dainties  had  been  set  forth.  "Heavens  an* 
earth!  I'm  so  glad  t'  see  a  woman  I  could  lay 
right  down  an'  bawl." 

"You  have  made  me  as  happy  as  a  young 
192 


Silas    Strong 

fawn,"  said  Miss  Dunmore.  "I  am  not  afraid 
of  you  or  the  children." 

"Are  you  afraid  of  him  ?" 

The  lady  looked  down,  blushing,  and  al 
most  whispered  her  answer.  "  Yes  ;  I  am 
afraid." 

"He  wouldn't  hurt  ye — he's  jest  as  gentle  as 
a  lamb,"  said  Sinth.  She  paused  to  cut  the 
cake,  and  added,  with  a  far-away  look  in  her 
eyes,  "Still  an'  all,  I  dunno  what  I'd  do  if  he 
was  to  make  love  to  me." 

Sinth  ate  in  silence  for  a  moment  and  re 
marked,  dreamily,  "  Men  are  awful  cur 'is  critters 
when  they  git  love  in  'em." 

For  a  little,  one  might  have  heard  only  the 
chatter  of  the  children  and  the  barking  of  Zeb. 
By-and-by  the  maiden  said,  "I  am  sure  that 
Mr.  Master  is — is  a  good  man." 

"No  nicer  in  the  world,"  Sinth  answered. 
"  Pleasant  spoke,  an'  he  don't  set  around  as  if 
he  wanted  ye  t'  breathe  fer  him.  He'll  be  a 
good  provider,  too." 

After  a  few  moments  the  children  took  their 
cake  and  went  away  to  share  it  with  Zeb  and 
the  tame  crow. 

"  Do  you — do  you  think  he  would  care  to  see 
me  again?"  Edith  Dunmore  asked,  blushing  and 


Silas   Strong 

looking  down  as  she  touched  a  wild  rose  on  her 
breast. 

"  'Course  he  would,"  Sinth  answered,  prompt 
ly.  "  Can't  sleep  nights,  an'  looks  kind  o'  sick 
an'  dreamy,  like  a  man  with  a  felon."  Sinth 
looked  into  the  eyes  of  the  girl  and  added,  so 
berly,  "I  guess  you're  in  love  with  him  fast 
enough." 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  Miss  Dunmore,  with  a 
sigh.  "  I — I  know  that  all  the  light  of  the  day 
is  in  his  eyes — that  I  am  lonely  when  I  cannot 
find  him." 

Sinth  nodded.  "  It's  love,"  said  she,  decisive 
ly — "the  real,  genuwine,  pure  quill.  Don't  ye 
let  him  know  it." 

She  sat  looking  down  for  a  moment  with  a 
dreamy  look  in  her  eyes.  "I  know  what  'tis," 
she  went  on,  sadly.  "Had  a  beau  myself  once. 
Went  off  t'  the  war."  After  a  little  pause  she 
added,  "  He  never  come  back — shot  dead  in  bat 
tle."  She  began  to  pick  up  the  dishes.  Having 
stowed  them  in  a  pail,  she  turned  and  said,  in  a 
solemn  manner:  "He  was  goin'  t'  bring  me  a 
gold  ring  with  a  shiny  purple  stone  in  it.  Not  that 
I'd  'a'  cared  for  that  if  I  could  have  had  him." 

That  old  look  of  sickliness  and  resignation 
returned  to  the  face  of  Sinth. 


Silas   Strong 

"  Folks  has  to  give  fer  their  country,"  she 
added  soon.  "  My  father  an'  my  gran'father  an' 
my  oldest  brother  an'  my  true  love  all  died  in 
the  wars.  I  hope  you'll  never  have  to  give  so 
much." 

A  great,  earth-quaking  roar  from  far  down  the 
valley  of  Lost  River  sped  over  the  hills,  and 
shook  the  towers  of  the  wilderness  and  broke 
the  peace  of  that  remote  chamber  in  which  they 
stood.  It  was  .Business  breaking  through  the 
side  of  a  mountain  to  make  a  trail  for  the  iron 
horse. 

"BlastinM"  Sinth  exclaimed. 

"  It's  the  king  of  the  world  coming  through 
the  woods — so  my  father  tells  me,"  said  Miss 
Dunmore. 

Then,  as  if  fearful  that  he  might  arrive  that 
day,  she  rose  quickly  and  said: 

"I — must  go  home.     I  must  go  home." 

Sinth  kissed  her,  and  the  children  came  and 
bade  her  good-bye  and  stood  calling  and  waving 
their  hands  as  Edith  Dunmore,  with  the  ribboned 
crow,  slowly  went  up  the  trail  to  Catamount. 


XX 


N  his  way  home  at  night  Strong 
was  really  nearing  the  City  of 
Destruction,  like  that  pilgrim  of 
old  renown.  Shall  we  say  that 
Satan  had  filled  the  man  with 
lougnts  of  his  own  greatness  the  better  to 
work  upon  him  ?  However  that  may  be,  a  new 
peril  had  beset  the  Emperor. 

For  long  he  had  been  conscious  only  of  his 
faults.  Now  the  thought  of  his  merits  had 
caused  him  to  forget  them.  Turning  home 
ward,  the  world  in  his  view  consisted  of  two 
parts — Silas  Strong  and  other  people.  One  re 
grets  to  say  it  was  largely  Silas  Strong  —  the 
great  lifter,  the  guide  and  hunter  whose  fame 
he  had  not  until  then  suspected. 

Master  took  the  train  with  him  that  even 
ing. 

This  old-fashioned  man — Silas  Strong — whose 
mind  was,  in  the  main,  like  that  of  his  grand 
father — like  that,  indeed,  of  the  end  of  the  eigh- 

196 


Silas    Strong 

teenth  century — sat  beside  one  who  represented 
the  very  latest  ideals  of  the  Anglo-Saxon. 

They  were  both  descended  from  good  pioneer 
ancestry,  but  the  grandfather  of  one  had  moved 
to  Boston,  while  the  grandfather  of  the  other  had 
remained  in  the  woods.  The  boulevard  and  the 
trail  had  led  to  things  very  different. 

They  had  sat  together  only  a  few  moments 
when  the  two  Migleys  entered  the  car.  These 
ministers  of  the  great  king  got  to  work  at  once. 

"Hello!"  said  the  elder  of  them,  addressing 
Master.  "  I  congratulate  you.  I  told  my  son 
it  was  a  great  speech.  Ask  him  if  I  didn't." 

"I  enjoyed  your  speech,"  said  young  Migley. 
"  But  there's  no  use  talking  to  us  about  saving 
the  wilderness.  If  we  did  as  you  wish,  we'd 
have  nothing  to  do  but  twirl  our  thumbs." 

"On  the  contrary,  you'd  have  a  permanent 
business,  whereas  your  present  course  will  soon 
lead  you  to  the  end  of  it.  I  would  have  you  cut 
nothing  below  twelve  inches  at  the  butt,  and 
get  your  harvest  as  often  as  you  can  find  it."  . 

"'Twouldn't  pay,"  said  "Pop"  Migley,  with 
a  shake  of  his  head. 

"You  condemn  the  plan  without  trial,"  Mas 
ter  continued.  "Anyhow,  if  an  owner  wants 
his  value  at  once,  let  us  have  a  law  under  which 

197 


Silas    Strong 

he  can  transfer  his  timber-land  to  the  State  on 
a  fair  appraisal." 

"  The  State  wouldn't  pay  us  half  we  can  make 
by  cutting  it." 

"Probably  not,  but  you'd  have  your  time 
and  capital  for  other  uses.  Then,  too,  you 
should  think  of  the  public  good.  You're  rich 
enough." 

"  But  not  fool  enough,"  said  young  Mr.  Migley, 
in  a  loud  voice. 

The  train  stopped  to  take  water,  and  those 
near  were  now  turned  to  listen. 

"  I  thought  you  were  ambitious  to  be  a  public 
servant,"  said  Master,  calmly. 

"  But  not  as  a  professor  of  moral  philosophy.1 
This  declaration  of  the  young  candidate  was 
greeted  with  laughter. 

"And,  of  course,  not  as  a  professor  of  moral 
turpitude,"  said  the  woods  lover.  "The  public 
is  not  to  be  wholly  forgotten." 

"I'm  for  my  part  of  the  public,  first,  last,  and 
always,"  young  Migley  answered. 

It  is  notable  that  lawless  feeling — especially 
after  it  has  passed  from  sire  to  son — some  day 
loses  the  shame  which  has  covered  and  kept  it 
from  insufferable  offence.  Two  or  three  citizens 
who  sat  near  began  to  whisper  and  shake  their 

198 


Silas   Strong 

heads.  One  of  them  spoke  out  loudly  and  in 
dignantly  : 

"His  part  of  the  public  is  mostly  himself. 
He  is  trying  to  buy  his  way  into  the  Assembly, 
and  I  hope  he'll  fail." 

There  were  hot  words  between  the  Migleys  and 
their  accuser,  until  the  lumbermen  left  the  car. 

Soon  Master  fell  asleep.  Strong  took  out  his 
old  memorandum-book  and  went  over  sundry 
events  and  reflections. 

When  Master  awoke  the  Emperor  still  sat 
with  the  worn  book  in  his  hands. 

"  I've  been  asleep,"  said  the  young  man. 
"What  have  you  been  doing?" 

"Th-thinkin'  out  a  few  th-thoughts,"  Strong 
answered,  as  he  put  the  book  in  his  pocket. 

The  Emperor  began  to  speak  of  the  Congress 
man's  courtesies  in  a  tone  of  self-congratulation. 

Master  laughed  heartily.  "It  was  a  pretty 
little  plot,"  said  he.  "Those  common  fellows 
couldn't  manage  you,  and  they  passed  you  on. 
I'll  bet  he  asked  you  to  help  Migley." 

Strong  smiled  and  nodded. 

"You  haven't  made  me  any  promise,  and  I 
want  you  to  feel  free  to  do  what  you  think  best," 
said  the  young  man. 

The  train  pulled  into  Bees'  Hill  in  the  edge  of 
199 


Silas    Strong 

the  wilderness,  and  they  left  it  and  took  quarters 
at  the  Rustic  Inn. 

Bees'  Hill  was  a  new  lumber  settlement  where 
there  were  two  mills,  three  inns,  a  number  of 
stores,  and  a  post-office.  The  bar-room  was 
crowded  with  brawny  mill-hands  from  across 
the  border,  in  varying  stages  of  intoxication. 
The  inn  itself  was  full  of  the  reek  of  cheap  to 
bacco  and  the  sound  of  cheaper  oaths.  The 
most  offensive  in  the  crowd  were  of  the  new 
generation  of  back-country  Americans.  Their 
boastfulness  and  profanity  were  in  full  flood. 
They  used  the  sacred  names  with  a  cheerful, 
glib  familiarity,  as  if  they  were  only  saying 
"Bill"  or  "Joe." 

The  town  had  begun  to  ruin  the  woodsman 
as  well  as  the  woods. 

Here  were  some  of  the  sons  of  the  pioneers — 
mostly  "guides"  and  choremen  of  abundant 
leisure.  Every  day  they  were  "dressed  up," 
and  sat  about  the  inn  like  one  who  patiently 
tries  his  luck  at  a  fishing-hole.  They  had  dis 
covered  themselves  and  were  like  a  child  with 
its  first  doll.  They  had,  as  it  were,  torn  them 
selves  apart  and  put  themselves  together  again. 
They  had  experimented  with  cologne,  hair -oil, 
poker,  colored  neckties,  hotel  fare,  and  execra- 

200 


Silas    Strong 

ble  whiskey.  They  were  in  love  with  pleasure 
and  had  sublime  faith  in  luck.  They  spent  their 
time  looking  and  listening  and  talking  and 
primping  and  dreaming  of  sudden  wealth  and 
kitchen-maids. 

Strong  and  Master  stood  a  moment  looking 
at  a  noisy  company  of  youths  at  the  bar. 

"They  speak  of  the  President  by  his  first 
name,  and  are  rather  free  with  the  Creator,"  said 
Master. 

"J-jus'  little  mehoppers,"  Strong  remarked, 
with  a  look  of  pity.  In  his  speech  a  conceited 
fellow,  who  spoke  too  frequently  of  himself, 
was  always  a  "mehopper." 

"  Large  heads !"  Master  exclaimed,  as  he  turned 
away. 

11  Like  a  b-balsam, ' '  Strong  stammered.  "  B-big 
top  an'  little  r-roots." 

"And  they  can't  stand  against  the  wind," 
said  Master. 

Before  he  went  to  bed  the  Emperor  made  these 
entries  in  his  mernorandum-book : 

"  Strong  says  he  had  just  as  soon  be  seen  with  a  coon 
as  a  congressman  also  that  a  fool  gits  so  big  in  his 
own  eyes  he  dont  never  dast  quarrell  with  himself 
Strong  got  to  mehoppin.  he  has  fit  and  conkered 

"God  never  intended  fer  a  man  to  see  himself  er  else 
he'd  have  set  his  eyes  difernt." 

201 


XXI 

N  the  morning,  a  little  after  sun 
rise,  Strong  and  Master  set  out 
across  the   State   land  stretching 
from  the  railroad  to  Lost  River,  a 
distance  of  some  fourteen  miles. 
Not  an  hour's  walk  from  the  station,  at  Bees' 
Hill,   they  passed  another  lumber  job,  where, 
on  the  land  of  the  State,  nearly  a  score  of  men 
were  engaged  felling  the  tall  pines  and  hauling 
them  to  skidways.     The  Emperor  flung  off  his 
pack  and  hurried  to  the  workers. 
"Who's  j-job?"  he  inquired. 
"Migley's.     We're  working  on  a  contract  for 
the  dead  timber." 

"Ca-call  that  dead?"  Strong  waved  his  hand 
in  the  direction  of  a  number  of  trees,  newly 
felled,  which  had  been  as  healthy  as  any  in  the 
forest.  "Q-quit,  er  I'll  go  to-day  an'  c-com- 
plain  o'  ye,"  he  added. 

"You  can  go  to if  you  like,"  said  the 

foreman,  angrily. 

202 


Silas   Strong 

Quicker  than  the  jaws  of  a  trap  Strong's  hand 
caught  the  boss  by  the  back  of  his  neck  and  flung 
him  headlong. 

The  dealer  in  hasty  speech  rose  and  took  a 
step  towards  the  Emperor  and  halted. 

"B-better  think  it  over,"  said  Strong,  coolly. 

The  boss  turned  to  his  men.  He  shouted  at 
some  eight  or  ten  of  them  who  had  come  near, 
"  Are  you  going  to  stand  there  and  see  me  treated 
that  way." 

''You  fight  your  own  battles,"  said  one  of 
them.  "For  my  part,  I  think  the  Emp'ror  is 
right." 

"So  do  I,"  said  another.  "I've  pulled  the 
brier  for  you  as  long  as  I  want  to." 

The  rest  of  the  "gang"  stood  still  and  said 
nothing. 

"I'll  go  and  see  Migley  about  this,"  declared 
the  foreman,  who  was  walking  hurriedly  in  the 
direction  of  his  camp.  He  turned  and  shouted 
to  the  toilers,  "  You  fellers  can  go  '  histe  the 
turkey/" 

One  who  had  to  pick  up  his  effects  and  get 
out  was  told  to  "  histe  the  turkey  "  there  in  the 
woods. 

Strong  and  Master  had  a  few  words  with  the 
men  and  resumed  their  journey  to  Lost  River. 

203 


Silas    Strong 

As  they  walked  on,  a  brush  whip  hit  the  Em 
peror  in  the  face.  He  stopped  and  broke  it 
and  flung  it  down  with  a  word  of  reproof.  He 
often  did  that  kind  of  thing — as  if  the  trees  and 
bushes  were  alive  and  on  speaking  terms  with 
him.  Sometimes  he  would  stop  and  compli 
ment  them  for  their  beauty. 

Soon  the  young  man  spoke. 

"  After  all,  the  law  is  no  better  than  they  who 
make  it,"  said  he. 

The  Emperor  turned  as  if  not  sure  of  his 
meaning. 

4 'Bribery!"  said  Master.     "Migley  got  a 
passed  which  provides  a  fine  so  low  for  cutting 
State  timber  that   he  can  pay  it   and  make 
money." 

"B-Business  is  k-king,"  said  Strong,  thought 
fully.  He  perceived  how  even  the  State  itself 
had  become  a  subject  of  the  great  ruler. 

"And  Satan  is  behind  the  throne,"  Master 
went  on.  "Down  goes  the  forest  and  the  will 
of  the  people.  I  tell  you,  Strong,  the  rich  thief 
is  a  great  peril;  so  many  souls  and  bodies  are 
mortgaged  by  his  pay-roll  and  his  favor.  Look 
out  for  him.  He  can  make  you  no  better  than 
beef  or  mutton." 

They  proceeded  on  their  journey  in  silence, 
204 


Silas   Strong 

and,  when  the  sun  had  turned  westward  and 
they  sat  down  to  drink  and  rest  on  the  shore  of 
Lost  River,  Strong  began  to  write,  slowly  and 
carefully,  in  his  old  memorandum-book,  some 
thoughts  intended  for  his  future  guidance.  And 
he  wrote  as  follows* 

"July  the  5 

"Strong  says  '  Man  that  advises  other  folks  to  go  to 
hell  is  apt  to  git  thair  first.' 

"  also  that '  a  man  who  loses  his  temper  aint  got  nothin 
left  but  a  fool.'  Strong  is  shamed. 

"  'Taint  miff  to  look  a  gift  hoss  in  the  mouth  better 
turn  him  rong  side  out  and  see  how  hes  lined." 


Having  "thought  out"  these  thoughts  and  set 
them  down,  the  Emperor  rose  and  put  the  book 
in  his  pocket  and  hurried  up  the  familiar  trail, 
followed  by  his  companion.  A  little  farther  on 
they  met  Socky,  Sue,  and  Sinth. 

"Merry  C'ris'mus!"  the  Emperor  shouted  as  he 
caught  sight  of  them.  He  put  his  great  hands 
upon  their  backs  and  drew  the  boy  and  girl 
close  against  his  knees.  "My  leetle  f -fawns!" 
he  said,  with  a  chuckle  of  delight,  as  he  clum 
sily  patted  them.  His  eyes  were  damp  with 
joy;  his  hands  trembled  in  their  eagerness 
to  open  the  pack.  He  untied  the  strings  and 

205 


Silas   Strong 

uncovered  the   rocking  -  horse   and   other   trin 
kets. 

"Whoa!"  he  shouted,  as  he  put  the  little, 
dapple-gray,  wooden  horse  on  the  smooth  trail 
and  set  him  rocking. 

Cries  of  delight  echoed  in  that  green  aisle  of 
the  woods.  Strong  put  the  children  on  the 
back  of  the  wooden  horse  and  gave  a  brass 
trumpet  to  Socky  and  buckled  a  girdle  of  silver 
bells  around  the  waist  of  Sue.  .  Then  he  put 
on  his  pack,  lifted  horse  and  children,  and 
bore  them  into  Lost  River  camp.  The  laugh 
ter  of  the  young  man  joined  that  of  the  chil 
dren. 

"Silas  Strong!"  Sinth  exclaimed,  as  the  Em 
peror  unloaded  in  front  of  the  cook-tent. 

"P-present!"  he  answered,  promptly. 

"Can't  hear  myself  think,"  said  she,  with  a 
suggestion  of  the  old  twang  in  her  voice. 

"N-now,  t-try,"  said  Silas  Strong,  as  he  gave 
her  a  little  package. 

The  expression  of  her  face  changed  quickly. 
With  slow  but  eager  hands  she  undid  the  pack 
age.  Her  mouth  opened  with  surprise  when 
she  discovered  a  ring  with  a  shiny,  purple  stone 
in  it. 

"G-gold  an*   amethys'!"   the   Emperor    ex- 
206 


Silas   Strong 

claimed,  calmly  and  tenderly,  his  voice  mellowed 
by  affection. 

"Gold  an'  amethyst,"  she  repeated,  solemnly. 

"Uh-huh!"  It  was  a  low,  affectionate  sound 
of  affirmation  from  the  Emperor,  made  with  his 
mouth  closed. 

Her  lips  trembled,  her  face  changed  color, 
her  eyes  filled.  It  was  oddly  pathetic  that  so 
vain  a  trifle  should  have  so  delighted  her — 
homely  and  simple  as  she  was.  Since  her  girl 
hood  she  had  dreamed  of  a  proud  but  impossible 
day  that  should  put  upon  her  finger  a  gold  ring 
with  a  shiny,  purple  stone  in  it.  Strong  knew 
of  her  old  longing.  He  knew  that  she  had  never 
had  half  a  chance  in  this  world  of  unequal  bur 
dens,  and  he  felt  for  her. 

"I  tol'  ye,"  said  he,  in  a  voice  that  trembled 
a  little.  "B-better  times.'* 

She  looked  down  at  the  ring,  but  did  not  an 
swer. 

"That  celebrates  your  engagement  to  the 
Magic  Word,"  said  Master. 

She  put  it  on  her  finger  and  gave  it  a  glance  of 
pride.  Then  she  said,  "Thank  you,  Silas,"  and 
repaired  to  her  quarters  and  sat  down  and 
wept. 

Her  brother  shouldered  the  axe  and  went  to 
207 


Silas  Strong 

cut  some  wood  for  the  stove.     She  could  hear 
him  singing  as  he  walked  away  slowly : 

"The  green  groves  are  gone  from  the  hills,  Maggie, 

Where  oft  we  have  wandered  an'  sung, 
An'  gone  are  the  cool,  shady  rills,  Maggie, 
Where  you  an'  I  were  young." 


XXII 


HE  next  was  one  of  the  slow- 
coming  days  that  seem  to  be  de 
layed  by  the  great  burden  of  their 
importance.  With  eager,  impa 
tient  curiosity,  Master  had  looked 
forward.  Had  he  witnessed  the  first  scenes  of 
his  own  life  comedy?  If  so,  what  would  the 
next  be? 

He  rose  early  and  dressed  with  unusual  care, 
and  was  delighted  to  see  a  sky  full  of  warm  sun 
light.  The  children  were  awake,  and  he  helped 
them  to  put  on  their  best  attire  while  Sinth 
was  getting  breakfast  in  the  cook-tent.  Soon, 
with  Socky  and  Sue  in  the  little  wagon,  he  was 
on  the  trail  to  Catamount  Pond.  Strong  was 
to  come  later  and  bring  their  luncheon  and  be 
gin  the  construction  of  a  camp. 

On  the  way  Master  gathered  wild  flowers  and 
adorned  the  children  with  gay  colors  of  the 
forest  floor.  They  found  their  canoe  at  the 
landing,  and  got  aboard  and  pushed  across  the 

209 


Silas    Strong 

still  water.  The  sky  had  never  seemed  to  him 
so  beautiful  and  silent.  From  far  up  the  moun 
tain  he  could  hear  the  twittering  of  a  bird — 
no  other  sound.  The  margin  of  the  pond  was 
white  with  lilies  in  full  bloom.  Their  perfume 
drifted  in  slow  currents  of  air.  His  canoe  moved 
in  harmony  with  the  silence.  He  could  hear  the 
bursting  of  tiny  bubbles  beneath  his  bow  and 
around  his  paddle. 

Soon  they  came  in  sight  of  Birch  Cove.  There 
stood  the  moss -covered  rock  at  the  edge  of 
the  pond,  but  no  maiden.  Master  felt  a  pang 
of  disappointment.  A  fear  grew  in  his  heart. 
Would  she  not  come  again?  Was  it  all  a  pleas 
ant  dream,  and  was  there  no  such  wonderful 
creature  among  the  children  of  men? 

He  shoved  his  bow  on  the  little  sand  beach 
and  helped  the  children  ashore. 

In  a  moment  they  heard  the  voice  of  the  crow 
laughing  as  if  unable  longer  to  control  himself. 

"I'm  going  to  find  her,"  said  Socky,  as  he 
ran  up  the  deer- trail  followed  by  Sue. 

In  a  moment  they  gave  a  cry  of  delight. 
Edith  Dunmore  had  stepped  from  behind  a 
thicket,  and,  stooping,  had  put  her  arms  around 
the  children  and  was  kissing  them.  The  cun 
ning  crow  walked  hither  and  thither  and  picked 

210 


I 


Silas   Strong 

at  the  dead  leaves  and  chattered  like  a  child  at 
play. 

"Oh,  it  has  been  such  a  long  time!"  said  "the 
beautiful  lady,"  looking  "fondly  into  the  faces  of 
the  little  folk.  "Where  is  he?" 

"Over  there,"  said  Socky,  pointing  in  the 
direction  of  the  canoe.  "I'll  go  and  tell  him." 

"No,"  the  maiden  whispered,  holding  the  boy 
closer. 

"  He  wants  to  see  you,"  said  the  boy. 

"Me? — he  would  like  to  see  me?"  she  asked. 

"He  wants  you  to  go  home  with  us,"  the  boy 
went  on,  as  if  he  were  a  kind  of  Cupid — an  am 
bassador  of  love  between  the  two.  He  felt  her 
hair  curiously  and  with  a  sober  face. 

"He  has  a  beautiful  watch  an'  chain,"  said 
Socky. 

"An'  a  gol'  pencil,"  said  Sue. 

"  He's  rich,"  the  little  Cupid  urged,  in  a  quaint 
tone  of  confidence. 

"What  makes  you  think  he  wants  me?"  the 
girl  asked. 

"He  told  Uncle  Silas— didn't  he,  Sue?" 

The  face  of  Edith  Dunmore  was  now  glowing 
with  color.  She  drew  the  children  close  to 
gether  in  front  of  her. 

"Don't  tell  him— don't  tell  him  I  am  here," 

211 


Silas    Strong 

said  she,  under  her  breath,  as  she  trembled  with 
excitement. 

"He  wouldn't  hurt  anybody,"  Sue  volun 
teered. 

The  pet  crow  had  wandered  in  the  direction 
of  the  canoe.  Catching  sight  of  Master,  he  ran 
away  cawing. 

The  young  man  started  slowly  up  the  trail. 
For  a  moment  the  girl  hid  her  face  behind  the 
children.  As  he  came  near  she  rose  and  timidly 
gave  him  her  hand.  Quickly  she  turned  away. 
His  hand  had  been  like  those  of  the  children — 
its  touch  had  stirred  new  and  slumbering  depths 
in  her. 

"  If — if  you  wish  to  be  alone  with  the  chil 
dren,"  he  said,  "I — I  will  go  fishing." 

For  a  little  she  dared  not  look  in  his  face.  But 
since  her  talk  with  Miss  Strong  she  was  deter 
mined  not  to  run  away  again  for  fear  of  him. 
She  stood  without  speaking,  her  eyes  downcast. 

"  You  do  want  her-— don't  you,  Uncle  Robert  ?" 
said  the  youthful  ambassador. 

"You — you  mustn't  ask  me  to  tell  secrets," 
said  the  young  man,  as  he  turned  away  with  a 
little  laugh  of  embarrassment. 

"Is  your  father  at  home?"  he  asked. 

"He  will  return  Saturday." 

212 


Silas    Strong 

"  If  he  were  willing,  would — would  you  let  me 
come  to  see  you?" 

She  hesitated,  looking  down  at  the  green  moss. 

"I— I  think  not,"  said  she. 

"You  are  right — you  do  not  know  me.  But, 
somehow,  I — I  feel  as  if  I  knew  you  very  well." 

"  Where  do  you  live?" 

"At  Clear  Lake  in  the  summer — in  New  York 
City  the  rest  of  the  year." 

"I  have  never  seen  a  city,"  said  she,  turning 
and  looking  up  at  him.  "My  father  has  told 
me  they  are  full  of  evil  men." 

"There  are  both  good  and  evil." 

"Do  you  live  in  a  palace?" 

"  It  is  a  very  large  house,  although  we  do  not 
call  it  a  palace." 

"Tell  me— please  tell  me  about  it." 

Then  he  told  her  of  his  home  and  life  and 
people.  She  listened  thoughtfully.  When  he 
had  finished  she  said,  "It  must  be  like  that 
wonderful  land  where  people  go  when  they  die." 

From  far  away  they  could  hear  the  sound  of  a 
steam- whistle.  Its  echoes  were  dying  in  the 
near  forest. 

"It  is  the  whistle,"  said  she,  looking  away, 
her  eyes  wide  open.  "Every  time  I  hear  it  I 
long  to  go.  Sometimes  I  think  it  is  calling  me." 

213 


Silas   Strong 

Neither  spoke  for  a  moment. 

"  It  comes  from  a  distant  village  where  there 
are  many  people,"  she  added.  "Yesterday  I 
climbed  the  mountain.  Far  away  I  could  see 
the  smoke  and  great  white  buildings." 

"  I  go  to  that  village  to-morrow,"  said  Master. 

She  dropped  her  violets  and  looked  down  at 
them. 

"  Would  you  care  if  you  never  saw  me  again  ?" 
he  asked, 

She  turned  away  and  made  no  answer. 

In  the  silence  that  followed  the  young  man 
was  thinking  what  he  should  say  next.  She 
was  first  to  speak,  and  her  voice  trembled  a 
little. 

"Could  I  not  see  the  children?" 

"If  you  would  go  to  Lost  River  camp." 

"I  cannot,"  said  she,  with  a  touch  of  despair 
in  her  voice.  "  My  father  has  told  me  never  to 
go  there." 

The  young  man  thought  a  moment.  She 
turned  suddenly  and  looked  up  at  him. 

"I  know  you  are  one  of  the  good  men,"  she 
Declared. 

"I  am  at  least  harmless,"  he  answered,  with 
a  smile,  "  and — and  you  will  make  me  happy  if 
you  will  let  me  be  your  friend." 

214 


Silas  Strong 

"Tut,  tut!"  said  the  little  crow  as  he  flew 
into  the  tree  above  her  head. 

"  I  would  try  to  make  you  happier,"  the  young 
man  urged. 

"How?"  she  asked. 

"  I  could  tell  you  about  many  wonderful  things. 
You  ought  not  to  stay  here  in  the  woods, ' '  he  went 
on.  "Do  you  never  think  of  the  future?" 

She  turned  with  a  serious  look  in  her  eyes. 

He  continued:  "You  cannot  always  live  at 
Buckhorn.  Your  father  is  growing  old." 

"And  he  is  well,"  said  she.  "My  father  has 
always  taught  me  that  Death  conies  only  to 
those  who  think  of  him." 

In  the  distance  they  could  hear  the  thunder 
of  a  falling  tree. 

"Even  the  great  trees  have  to  bow  before 
him,"  said  the  young  man. 

A  moment  of  silence  followed. 

"Let  me  be  your  friend,"  he  pleaded. 

She  thought  of  what  her  grandmother  had 
lately  said  to  her  and  looked  up  at  him  sadly 
and  thoughtfully. 

"But  you — you  would  make  me  love  you," 
said  she,  "  and  when  you  were  like  the  heart  in 
'  my  breast — so  I  could  not  live  without  you — 
then — then  you  would  leave  me." 

215 


Silas    Strong 

"Ah,  but  you  do  not  know,"  he  answered. 
"I  love  you,  and,  even  now,  you  are  like  the 
heart  in  my  breast — I  cannot  live  without  you." 

He  approached  her  as  he  spoke  and  his  voice 
trembled  with  emotion.  She  rose  and  ran  a 
short  distance  up  the  trail  and  stopped. 

"  Will  you  not  stay  a  little  longer  ?"  he  pleaded. 

She  looked  back  at  him  with  a  curious  interest 
and  the  least  touch  of  fear  in  her  eyes.  She 
moved  her  head  slowly,  negatively,  as  if  to  tell 
him  that  she  would  love  to  stay  but  dared!  not. 

"May  I  see  you  here  to-morrow?"  he  asked. 

She  smiled  and  nodded  and  waved  her  hand 
to  him  and  ran  away. 

The  crow  laughed  as  if  her  haste  were  amus 
ing. 

Master  sat  awhile  after  she  had  gone.  He 
could  not  now  endure  the  thought  of  leaving. 
He  had  planned  to  go  with  Strong  and  visit  a 
number  of  woodsmen  at  their  camps,  and  talk 
to  the  mill-hands  in  a  few  villages  on  the  lower 
river.  It  was  a  formality  not  to  be  neglected 
if  one  would  receive  the  votes  of  Pitkin,  Till- 
bury,  and  Tifton.  But  suddenly  he  had  be 
come  a  candidate  for  greater  happiness,  he  felt 
sure,  than  was  to  be  found  in  politics.  His 
election  thereto  depended  largely  on  the  vote  of 

216 


Silas    Strong 

one  charming  citizen  of  a  remote  corner  of  Till- 
bury  township.  Her  favor  had  now  become 
more  important,  in  his  view,  than  that  of  all 
the  voters  in  the  county.  He  would  delay  his 
canvass  over  the  week's  end. 

So  thinking,  Master  put  off  in  his  canoe  with 
the  children,  gathering  lilies  until  he  came  at  last 
to  the  landing.  There  Sinth  and  the  Emperor 
had  just  arrived. 

"  W-weasels,"  said  Strong,  with  a  little  nod  in 
the  direction  of  his  sister,  who  stood  on  the  shore. 

With  him,  as  Master  knew,  the  weasel  had 
come  to  be  a  symbol  of  needless  worry. 

"About  what?"  Master  inquired. 

"L-little  f-fawns." 

"Keep  thinkin'  they're  goin'  to  git  lost  or 
drownded,"  said  she,  giving  each  of  the  children 
a  sugared  cooky. 

"  Don't  worry.  I  shall  always  take  good  care 
of  the  children,"  said  Master. 

"  I  know  that,  but  I  keep  a-thinkin'.  Some 
times  I  wisht  there  wasn't  any  woods.  I'm 
kind  o'  sick  of  'em,  anyway." 

Those  little  people  with  the  dress,  talk,  and 

|   manners  of  the  town — with  a  subtle  power  in 

<  their  companionship,  in  their  very  dependence 

upon  her,  which  the  woman  felt  but  was  not 

is  2I7 


Silas   Strong 

able  to  understand  —  were  surely  leading  her 
out  of  the  woods.  They  had  increased  her 
work;  they  had  annoyed  her  with  ingenious 
mischief;  they  had  harassed  her  with  questions, 
but  they  had  awakened  something  in  her  which 
had  almost  perished  in  years  of  disappointment 
and  utter  loneliness.  At  first  they  had  reminded 
her  of  her  dead  sister,  and  that,  in  a  measure, 
had  reconciled  her  to  their  coming.  Later,  the 
touch  of  their  hands,  the  call  of  their  voices,  had 
made  their  strong  appeal  to  her.  Slowly  she 
had  begun  to  feel  a  mother's  fondness  and  re 
sponsibility  and  a  new  interest  in  the  world. 

Again  sound-waves  of  the  great  whistle  at 
Benson  Falls  swept  wearily  through  the  silence 
above  them. 

"Makes  me  kind  o'  homesick,"  said  Sinth,  as 
she  listened  thoughtfully.  The  Emperor  had 
begun,  just  faintly,  to  entertain  a  feeling  akin 
to  hers. 

Master  helped  her  up  the  hill  on  her  way  to 
camp  with  the  children.  He  returned  shortly 
and  gave  a  hand  to  the  building  of  his  little 
home  on  the  shore  of  Catamount.  It  was  to  be 
an  open  shanty,  leaning  on  the  ledge,  its  pole 
roof  covered  with  tar-paper,  its  floor  carpeted 
with  balsam  boughs. 

218 


I 


Silas   Strong 

"  Migleys  have  gone  into  c-camp  at  Nick 
Pond,"  said  the  Emperor.  "  Tol'  'em  I  had  t' 
go  w-with  you  t'-morrer." 

"I'm  sorry  that  we  have  to  delay  our  trip  a 
little,"  said  the  young  man. 

Strong  laughed. 

"Mellered!"  said  he,  merrily.  He  shook  his 
head  as  he  added,  "You  ain't  g-givin'  her  no 
slack  line." 

After  a  little  silence  the  hunter  added: 

"Don't  t-twitch  too  quick." 

It  was  a  phrase  gathered  from  his  experience 
as  a  fisherman. 

The  young  man  blushed  but  made  no  answer. 

"K-keep  cool  an'  use  a  1-long  line,"  Strong 
added. 


XXIII 

EXT  morning,  an  hour  after  sun 
rise,  Master  set  out  with  the  chil 
dren.  He  promised  Sinth  that 
he  would  keep  them  near  him 
and  bring  them  back  before  noon. 
They  shut  Zeb  in  a  cabin,  and  he  stood  on  his 
hind  feet  peering  out  of  the  window  and  barking 
loudly  as  they  went  away.  Master  brought  his 
blankets,  rifle,  books,  and  cooking  outfit,  for 
that  day  he  was  to  take  possession  of  the  new 
camp.  Strong  had  gone  with  the  Migleys  and 
their  outfit  in  the  trail  to  Nick. 

It  was  another  hot,  still  morning,  but  the  east 
ern  shore  of  Catamount  lay  deep  under  cool 
shadows  when  Master  dropped  his  pack  at  the 
shanty.  A  deer  stood  knee-deep  in  the  white 
border  of  lilies.  It  looked  across  the  cove  at 
them,  walked  slowly  along  the  margin  of  the 
shaded  water,  and  disappeared  in  the  tamaracks. 
Master  and  the  children  crossed  to  Birch  Cove, 

220 


Silas   Strong 

hallooed,  but  received  no  answer,  and  sat  down 
upon  the  high,  mossy  bank. 

"Maybe  she  won't  come?"  Socky  suggested. 

"She  will  come  soon,"  said  Master. 

Sue  propped  her  little  doll  against  a  fern  leaf 
and  said:  "Oh,  dear!  I  wish  she'd  never  go 
'way." 

"She's  awful  good" — that  was  the  opinion  of 
Socky. 

"She  wouldn't  tell  no  falsehoods,"  Sue  sug 
gested. 

"I  wish  she'd  come  an'  live  with  us;  don't 
you?"  Socky  queried,  turning  to  Master.  The 
little  Cupid  was  searching  for  another  arrow. 

"Wouldn't  dare  say — you  little  busybody!" 
the  young  man  replied.  "You'd  go  and  tell 


on  me." 


Both  looked  up  at  him  soberly.  Socky  was 
first  to  speak.  "  Where'bouts  does  '  the  beauti 
ful  lady '  live?" 

"Way  off  in  the  woods." 

"At  the  home  of  the  fairies?" 

"No,  but  on  the  road  to  it." 

"  If  she'd  come  an'  live  with  us,  she  wouldn't 
have  to  fill  no  wood-box,  would  she?"  Sue  in 
quired. 

"Or  pick  up  chips,"  Socky  put  in,  brushing 

221 


Silas   Strong 

one  palm  across  the  other  with  a  look  of  dread. 
The  children  had  discussed  that  problem  in 
bed  the  night  before.  Their  aunt  had  made 
them  fill  the  wood-box  and  bring  in  a  little 
basket  of  chips  every  night  and  morning.  It 
went  well  enough  for  a  day  or  two,  but  the  task 
had  begun  to  interrupt  other  plans. 

"Oh  no,"  said  Master.  "We'll  be  good  to 
her." 

Socky  was  noting  every  look  and  word — 
nothing  escaped  him.  He  felt  grateful  to  his 
young  lieutenant,  and  sat  for  a  little  time  look 
ing  dreamily  into  the  air.  Then,  with  thought 
ful  eyes,  he  felt  the  watch-chain  of  the  young 
man. 

"You'd  let  her  wear  your  watch — wouldn't 
you?" 

"Gladly." 

"She  could  look  at  my  aunt's  album,"  Sue 
suggested,  as  she  thought  of  the  pleasures  of 
the  camp. 

Socky  looked  a  bit  doubtful. 

"  She  mustn't  git  no  grease  on  it  or  she'll  git 
spoke  to,"  Sue  went  on  as  she  thought  of  the 
perils  of  the  camp. 

"Uncle  Silas  has  put  the  bear's-oil  away," 
said  Socky,  in  a  tone  of  regret.  He  thought  a 

222 


Silas   Strong 

moment,  and  then  added,  "Ladies  don't  never 
git  spoke  to." 

"You'd  carry  her  on  your  back  —  wouldn't 
you,  Uncle  Robert?"  inquired  little  Sue.  Both 
children  fixed  him  with  their  eyes. 

"Oh  no — that  wouldn't  do,"  said  Master. 

"  Men  don't  never  carry  ladies  on  their  backs," 
Socky  wisely  assured  her. 

"Uncle  Silas  carries  'em,"  Sue  insisted. 

"That's  only  Aunt  Sinthy,"  said  the  boy,  now 
a  little  in  doubt  of  his  position. 

Just  then  they  heard  the  crow  chattering 
away  up  the  dusky  trail.  The  children  rose  and 
ran  to  meet  "the  beautiful  lady,"  and  their 
voices  rang  in  the  still  woods,  calling,  "  Hoo-hoo! 
hoo-hoo!"  Master  slowly  followed  so  as  to 
keep  in  sight  of  them.  When  he  saw  Edith 
Dunmore  come  out  of  a  thicket  suddenly  and 
embrace  them,  he  turned  back  and  stood  where 
he  could  just  hear  the  sound  of  their  voices. 

She  drew  them  close  to  her  breast  a  moment, 
and  a  low  strain  of  song  sounded  within  her 
closed  lips — that  unconscious,  irrepressible  song 
of  the  mother  at  the  cradle. 

"Dear  little  brownies!  I  love  you — I  love 
you,"  she  said,  presently.  Then  she  whispered, 
"Where  is  he?" 

223 


Silas    Strong 

"  Over  there,"  the  boy  answered,  pointing  with 
his  finger. 

"Come,  I'll  show  you,"  said  Sue. 

"Fairy  queen  —  I  dare  not  follow  you,"  the 
girl  answered.  "I  am  afraid." 

"He  wants  you  to  come  and  live  with  us — 
he  does,"  the  boy  declared.  "He'll  be  awful 
good  to  you — he  said  he  would." 

"Did  he  say  that  he  liked  me  very  much?" 
she  asked. 

"I  wouldn't  tell,"  said  the  boy,  with  a  win 
some  look  as  he  thought  of  Master's  reproof. 

"You  wouldn't  tell  me?" 

"  'Cause  it's  a  secret." 

"You  are  like  the  little  god  I  have  read  of!" 
Miss  Dunmore  exclaimed,  drawing  him  closer. 
"Will  you  never  stop  wounding  me?" 

"Please  come,"  said  Sue.  "You  can  sleep 
in  our  bed  an'  hear  Uncle  Silas  sing." 

"Where  is  your  mother?" 

"Dead,"  Sue  answered,  cheerfully. 

"  'Way  up  in  heaven,"  said  Socky,  as  he  point 
ed  aloft  with  his  finger. 

"And  your  father?" 

"Gone  away,"  said  the  boy.  "I  give  him 
all  my  money — more'n  a  dollar." 

"And  you  live  at  Lost  River  camp?" 


Silas    Strong 

Socky  nodded. 

"Are  they  good  to  you?" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"I  wonder  why  he  doesn't  come?"  said  Miss 
Dunmore,  impatiently. 

"  'Fraid — maybe,"  Sue  suggested. 

"Pooh!  he  ain't  'fraid,"  Socky  declared,  as  he 
broke  away  and  ran  down  the  trail.  Miss  Dun- 
more  tried  to  call  him  back,  but  he  did  not  hear  her. 

"'The  beautiful  lady'!  She  wants  to  see 
you,"  he  said  to  Master,  his  eyes  glowing  with 
excitement. 

The  young  man  took  the  boy's  hand.  They 
proceeded  up  the  trail  in  the  direction  whence 
Socky  had  come. 

"You  ain't  'fraid,  are  you,  Uncle  Robert?" 
the  boy  asked,  eager  to  clear  his  friend  of  all 
.unjust  suspicion. 

"Oh  no,"  Master  answered,  with  a  nervous 
laugh. 

"He  ain't  'fraid,"  the  boy  proclaimed  as  they 
came  into  the  presence  of  Edith  Dunmore.  "  He 
can  kill  a  bear." 

"Afraid  only  of  interrupting  your  pleasure," 
said  the  young  man  as  he  approached  her.  She 
retreated  a  step  or  two  and  turned  half  away. 
The  children  began  to  gather  flowers. 

225 


Silas   Strong 

"I  tremble  when  I  hear  you  coming,"  said 
she,  timidly.  "You  are  so — "  She  thought  a 
moment.  "  Strange,"  she  added,  with  a  smile. 
She  looked  up  at  him  curiously.  "So  very 
strange  to  me,  sir." 

"You  are  strange  to  me  also,"  he  answered. 
"  I  have  seen  no  one  like  you,  and  I  confess  to 
one  great  fear." 

"What  fear?" 

"That  I  may  not  see  you  again,"  the  young 
man  answered,  with  a  smile. 

She  stooped  to  pick  a  flower.  Every  move 
ment  of  her  lithe,  tall  figure,  every  glance  of  her 
eye  seemed  to  tighten  her  hold  upon  him.  He 
stood  dumb  in  the  spell  of  her  beauty,  until  she 
added,  sorrowfully,  "  I  am  afraid  of  you,  sir — I 
cannot  help  it." 

"I  wish  I  were  less  terrible,"  he  answered, 
with  a  sigh. 

"I  will  not  see  you  again." 

"But — but  I  love  you,"  he  said,  simply. 

"When  I  am  here  I  am  afraid — when  I  go 
away  I  am  sorry."  Her  voice  trembled  as  she 
spoke.  "I  have  no  peace  any  more.  I  can 
not  enjoy  books  or  music.  I  cannot  stay  at 
home.  I  wander  —  all  day  I  wander,  and  the 
night  is  long — and  I  hear  the  voices  of  chil- 

226 


Silas   Strong 

dren —  like  those   I   have   heard  here  —  calling 


me." 


There  was  a  note  of  sympathy  in  his  voice 
when  he  answered,  "  It  is  the  same  with  me,  only 
it  is  your  voice  that  I  hear." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  her  face  full  of  wonder. 

"  I  think  no  more  of  the  many  things  I  have 
to  do,  but  only  of  one,"  he  said,  with  feeling. 

Miss  Dunmore  seemed  not  to  hear  him. 

"I  think  only  of  coming  here,"  he  added. 

She  stepped  away  timidly,  and  turned  and 
stood  straight  as  the  young  spruce,  looking  into 
his  eyes. 

"I,  too,  have  no  more  peace,"  he  said,  re 
straining  his  impulse  to  go  further. 

"  I  must  leave  you  —  I  must  not  speak  to  you 
any  more,"  she  answered. 

"  Stay,"  he  pleaded.  "  I  will  be  silent—  I  will 
say  not  a  word  unless  you  bid  me  speak  —  but 
let  me  look  at  you." 

She  stood  a  moment  as  if  thinking. 

"Do  you  hear  that  bird  song?"  she  asked, 
looking  upward. 

"Yes,  it  has  a  merry  sound." 

"It  is  my  answer  to  you,"  said  she. 

"Then  I  am  sure  you  love  me." 

As  he  came  nearer  she  retreated  a  little. 
227 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


Silas   Strong 

"  I  give  you  everything — everything  but  my 
self,"  said  she. 

"And  why  not  yourself?" 

Her  voice  had  a  plaintive  note  in  it  when  she 
said  to  him,  "  There  are  those  who  need  me 
more." 

"  I  offer  myself  to  you  and  to  them  also." 

She  stood  with  averted  eyes.  In  a  moment 
she  said,  "  Tell  me  what  are  we  to  do  when  those 
we  love  die?" 

"I,  too,  and  all  the  children  of  men  have  that 
same  worry,"  said  he.  "There's  an  old  Eastern 
maxim,  *  Love  as  many  as  you  can,  so  that  death 
may  not  make  you  friendless.'  ' 

She  walked  away  slowly.  She  stopped  where 
the  children  sat  playing  and  embraced  them. 

"Will  you  not  say  that  you  love  me?"  the 
young  man  urged. 

The  girl  went  up  the  gloomy  trail  with  lagging 
feet  as  if  it  were  steep  and  difficult.  That  clear- 
voiced  love-call  of  the  children  halted  her,  and 
she  looked  back.  Again  the  bird  flung  his  song 
upon  the  silence.  The  sweet  voice  of  the  maiden 
rang  like  a  bell  in  the  still -forest,  as  if  answer 
ing  the  bird's  message.  "I  love  you  —  I  love 
you,"  it  said.  Then  she  turned  quickly  and  ran 
away. 

228 


XXIV 

DITH     DUNMORE    wandered 

slowly  through  deep  thickets,  and 
where  she  could  just  see  the  light 
ed  chasm  of  Catamount  between 
far  tree- tops  she  lay  down  to  weep 
and  think  and  be  alone.  She  was  like  some 
wounded  creature  of  the  forest  who  would  hide, 
even  from  its  own  eyes,  on  the  soft,  kindly  bosom 
of  the  great  mother. 

She  had  learned  enough  to  have  some  under 
standing  of  that  strange  power  which  of  late  had 
broken  every  day  into  seconds.  These  little 
fragments  of  time  had  all  shades  of  color,  from 
joy  to  despair.  She  lay  recalling  those  which 
had  been  full  of  revelation.  In  a  strange  loneli 
ness  she  thought  of  all  Robert  Master  had  said, 
of  far  more  in  that  wordless,  wonderful  assur 
ance  which  had  passed  from  his  soul  to  hers. 
She  knew  that  to  be  given  in  marriage  was  to 
leave  all  for  a  new  love. 

She  knew  better  than  they  suspected — those 
229 


Silas    Strong 

few  dwellers  at  Buckhorn — how  dear,  how  in 
dispensable  she  was  to  them.  She  knew  how 
soon  that  loneliness,  which  had  often  seemed  to 
fill  the  heavens  above  her,  would  bear  them 
down.  Yet  she  would  not  hesitate;  she  would 
go  with  him,  and  for  this  she  felt  a  sense  of 
shame. 

She  lay  longer  than  she  knew,  looking  up  at 
the  sky  through  needled  crowns  of  pine.  That 
passion  which  has  all  the  fabled  power  of  Fate 
was  busy  with  her. 

A  band  of  crows  had  alighted  in  a  tree  above 
her  head  and  begun  cawing.  Roc,  who  had 
gone  to  roost  in  a  small  fir,  answered  them. 
One  dove  into  the  great,  dusky  hall  of  the  near 
woods  and  made  it  echo  with  his  cawing.  Roc 
rose  and  followed  through  its  green  roof  into 
the  open  sky.  The  maiden  called  to  him,  but 
he  heeded  only  the  call  of  his  own  people,  and 
made  his  choice  between  flying  and  creeping, 
between  loneliness  and  joy,  between  the  paths 
of  men  and  that  appointed  for  him  in  the  heav 
ens.  His  had  been  like  her  own  decision — so 
she  thought — he  had  heard  the  one  cry  which 
he  could  not  resist.  Lately  she  had  neglected 
him.  He  had  missed  her  caresses  and  begun 
to  think  of  better  company.  Again  and  again 

230 


Silas   Strong 

she  called,  but  he  had  gone  quickly  far  out  of 
hearing.  She  listened,  waiting  and  looking  into 
the  sky,  but  he  came  not. 

Master  had  taken  the  children  home  and  re 
turned  to  his  little  camp  on  the  pond.  She 
could  hear  the  stroke  of  his  axe;  she  could  hear 
him  singing.  She  fancied,  also,  that  she  could 
hear  the  children  call — that  little  trumpet  tone 
which  had  thrilled  her  when  it  rang  in  the 
woods.  She  rose  and  walked  slowly  towards 
the  lighted  basin  below  her.  She  could  not 
bear  to  turn  away  from  it.  She  would  go  down 
and  look  across  from  the  edge  of  the  thickets. 
She  feared  that  she  had  too  freely  uncovered  her 
feeling  for  him. 

Soon  she  turned  back,  but  then  she  seemed  to 
be  treading  on  her  own  heart.  She  ran  towards 
the  place  where  she  had  met  him.  She  thought 
not  of  the  children  now,  but  only  of  the  young 
man.  She  had  heard  her  father  say:  "A  man 
throws  off  his  mask  when  he  is  alone.  If  we 
could  see  him  then  we  should  know  what  is  in 
his  soul."  Could  she  look  into  his  face  while  he 
knew  not  of  her  being  near  she  would  know  if  he 
loved  her.  She  tried  to  enlarge  this  fancy  into  a 
motive.  It  failed,  however,  to  end  her  self-re 
proaches.  Soon,  almost  in  tears,  she  began  to 

231 


Silas    Strong 

whisper:  " I  do  not  care.  I  must  see  him  again. 
I  cannot  go  until  I  have  seen  him." 

Moose-birds  flew  in  the  tops  above  her,  scold 
ing  loudly,  as  if  to  turn  her  back.  They  an 
noyed  her,  and  she  stopped  until  they  had 
flown  away.  She  trembled  as  she  drew  near  the 
familiar  cove.  Stealthily  she  made  her  way, 
halting  where  they  had  talked  together.  A 
solemn  silence  brooded  there.  She  felt  the  moss 
where  his  feet  had  stood.  He  had  held  this 
fragrant,  broken  lily  in  his  hand.  She  picked  it 
up  and  pressed  it  to  her  lips.  She  slowly  crossed 
the  deep,  soft  mat  sloping  to  the  water's  edge, 
and  peered  between  sprays  of  tamarack.  The 
shadows  had  shifted  to  the  farther  shore.  A 
sprinkle  of  hot  light  fell  upon  her  shoulders. 
The  disk  of  the  sun  was  cut  by  dead  pines  on 
the  bald  ridge  opposite.  She  heeded  not  the 
warning  it  gave  her,  but  only  looked  and  listened. 
She  could  hear  Master  over  at  the  landing,  hid 
den  by  the  point  of  Birch  Cove.  He  was  cutting 
wood  for  the  night.  Under  cover  of  thickets, 
she  made  her  way  along  the  edge  of  the  pond. 
It  was  a  walk  of  more  than  half  a  mile  around 
the  coves. 

By-and-by  she  could  hear  the  tread  of  Master's 
feet  and  the  crackle  of  his  fire.  She  moved  with 

232 


Silas   Strong 

the  stealth  of  a  deer.  Soon  she  could  smell  the 
odor  of  frying  meat  and  was  reminded  of  her 
hunger.  She  passed  a  spring,  above  which  a 
cup  hung,  and  saw  the  trail  leading  to  his  camp. 
Possibly  very  soon  he  would  be  going  after 
water.  She  knelt  in  a  thicket  where  she  could 
see  him  pass,  and  waited.  For  a  long  time  she 
waited. 

Suddenly  she  rose  and  peered  about  her. 
She  paled  with  alarm.  It  was  growing  dusk; 
she  had  forgotten  that  the  day  would  have  an 
end.  It  was  a  journey  to  Buckhorn,  and  her 
little  guide  —  where  was  he  ?  Cautiously  she 
retraced  her  steps  along  the  shore.  In  a  mo 
ment  she  began  to  weep  silently.  When  she 
tried  to  hurry  the  rustling  of  the  brush  halted 
her.  Had  he  heard  it  ?  What  was  that  sound 
far  up  the  ridge  before  her?  She  knelt  and 
'listened.  It  was  a  man  coming  in  the  distance. 
She  could  hear  him  whistling  as  he  walked. 
Slowly  he  approached,  passing  within  a  few  feet 
of  her.  She  had  often  hidden  that  way  from 
unexpected  travellers  in  the  forest.  She  waited 
a  little  and  hurried  on. 

The  thickets  seemed  now  to  hold  her  back  as 
if  to  defeat  her  purpose.  She  got  clear  of  them 
by -and -by  and  ran  up  the  side  of  the  ridge. 
16  233 


Silas    Strong 

She  peered  about  her,  seeking  the  familiar  trail. 
The  dusk  had  thickened — her  alarm  had  grown. 
She  stopped  a  moment  to  make  sure  of  her  way. 
Again  she  hurried  on.  Soon  she  entered  the 
little  six-mile  thoroughfare  from  Catamount  to 
Buckhorn.  She  ran  a  few  rods  down  the  trail 
and  stopped.  It  was  growing  dark;  she  could 
scarcely  see  the  ground  beneath  her;  she  might 
soon  lose  her  way  in  the  forest.  She  leaned 
against  a  tree-trunk  and  shook  with  sobs,  think 
ing  of  her  folly  and  of  her  friends  at  home. 
Presently  she  ran  back  in  the  direction  of  Mas 
ter's  camp.  She  left  the  trail  and  went  slowly 
down  the  side  of  the  ridge.  She  must  go  and 
tell  him  that  she  had  lost  her  way  and  ask  for 
a  lantern.  She  could  see  the  flicker  of  his  fire. 
She  groped  through  the  bushes  to  a  little  cove 
opposite,  where,  across  water  some  twenty  rods 
away,  she  could  see  his  camp. 

In  the  edge  of  the  dark  forest  the  girl  sat 
gazing  off  at  the  firelight.  She  was  weary  and 
athirst;  she  was  tortured  with  anxiety,  but  she 
could  not  summon  courage  to  go.  She  could 
see  the  light  flooding  between  tree  columns, 
leaping  into  high  tops,  gilding  the  water-ripples. 
She  could  see  shadows  moving;  she  could  hear 
voices.  Light  and  shadow  seemed  to  beckon 

234 


Silas   Strong 

and  the  voices  to  invite  her,  but  she  dared  not 
go.  She  would  boldly  rise  and  feel  her  way  a 
few  paces,  only  to  sit  down  again.  Tales  which 
her  father  had  told  her  concerning  the  wicked 
ness  of  men  flashed  out  of  her  memory. 

That  light  was  on  the  edge  of  the  unknown 
world — full  of  mystery  and  peril.  She  could  not 
goad  herself  nearer. 


XXV 

T  was  Strong  who  had  passed 
Edith  Dunmore  as  night  was  fall 
ing  over  the  hollow  of  Catamount. 
He  was  returning  from  his  day 
of  toil  at  Nick  Pond. 

"  Just  in  time,"  said  the  young  man,  who  was 
eating  supper  at  a  rude  table,  from  a  pole  above 
which  two  lighted  lanterns  hung. 

The  great  body  of  the  Emperor  fell  heavily  on 
a  camp-stool.  He  blew  as  he  flung  his  hat  off. 

"Hot!"  said  he,  and  then  with  three  or  four 
great  gulps  he  poured  a  dipper  of  water  down 
his  throat. 

Master  put  a  small  flask  on  the  table  at  which 
they  sat. 

"Opey-d-dildock?"  Strong  inquired,  softly. 
"The  same,"  said  Master.     "Help  yourself." 
The  Emperor  obeyed  him  without  a  word. 
"How's  that?"  inquired  the  young  man. 
"S-sassy,"  Strong  answered,  wiping  his  mouth 
with  the  back  of  his  hand. 

236 


Silas   Strong 

"Fall  to,"  said  Master,  putting  the  platter  of 
trout  in  front  of  him. 

"Here's  f-fishin',"  said  Strong,  as  he  lifted  a 
large  trout  by  the  tail. 

"Good  place  to  anchor.     Anything  new?" 

"B-bear,"  Strong  stammered,  with  a  little 
shake  of  his  head. 

"Where?" 

The  Emperor  crushed  a  potato  and  filled  his 
mouth.  He  chewed  thoughtfully  before  he  an 
swered,  "Up  t-trail." 

"How  far?" 

Strong  pointed  with  his  fork.  He  stopped 
chewing  and  turned  and  listened  for  a  breath. 
"B-bout  jnile."  He  sighed  and  shook  his  head 
sorrowfully. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"F-feelin's!"  Strong  answered,  pointing  the 
fork  towards  his  bosom. 

"No  gun?" 

Strong  nodded.  It  was  a  moment  of  moral 
danger.  He  knew  that  Satan  would  lay  hold 
of  his  tongue  unless  it  were  guarded  with  great 
caution.  He  sat  back  and  whistled  for  half  a 
moment. 

"S-safe!"  he  exclaimed,  presently,  with  a  sigh, 
as  he  went  on  eating. 

237 


Silas   Strong 

"Which  way  was  he  travelling?" 

"Th-this  way — limpin',"  said  Strong. 

"Limping?" 

"  W-wownded, "  Strong  added,  softly,  gently, 
as  if  he  were  still  on  dangerous  ground. 

They  finished  their  meal  in  silence  and  drew 
up  to  the  fire  and  filled  their  pipes. 

He  rose  and  lighted  his  pipe  and  returned  to 
the  table  as  soon  as  he  had  begun  smoking. 
He  took  out  his  worn  memorandum-book  and 
thoughtfully  wrote  these  words : 

"July  the  6 

"  See  a  bear — best  way  to  kepe  the  ten  command 
ments  is  to  kepe  yer  mouth  shet." 

Strong  resumed  his  chair  at  the  camp-fire. 
Suddenly  he  raised  his  hand.  They  could  hear 
the  cracking  of  dead  brush  across  the  cove. 

"S-suthin',"  Strong  whispered. 

Again  the  sound  came  to  their  ears  out  of 
the  silent  forest. 

"Hearn  it  d-dozen  times,"  said  the  Emperor. 

They  listened  a  moment  longer.  Then  Strong 
rose. 

"  B-bear !"  he  whispered.     " Light  an'  rifle." 

Master  tiptoed  to  the  shanty.  He  lighted  the 
dark  lantern  —  a  relic  of  deer-stalking  days  — 

238 


Silas   Strong 

with  which  he  had  found  his  way  to  Catamount 
the  night  before.  He  adjusted  the  leathern 
helmet  so  its  lantern  rested  above  his  forehead. 
He  raised  his  rifle  and  opened  the  small  box  of 
light.  A  beam  burst  out  of  it  and  shot  across 
the  darkness  and  fell  on  a  thicket.  The  spire 
of  a  little  fir,  some  forty  feet  away,  seemed  to 
be  bathed  in  sunlight.  The  beam  glowed  along 
the  top  of  his  rifle -barrel,  and  he  stood  a  mo 
ment  aiming  to  see  if  he  could  catch  the  sights. 

Strong  beckoned  to  him.  The  young  man 
came  close  to  the  side  of  the  hunter  and  sug 
gested,  "Maybe  it's  a  deer." 

"T-'tain'  no  deer,"  Strong  whispered.  "S- 
suthin'  difer'nt."  He  listened  again.  "It's 
over  on  th-that  air  cove." 

He  explained  briefly  that  in  his  opinion  the 
bear,  being  wounded,  had  come  down  for  rest 
and  water.  He  presented  his  plan.  They  would 
cross  the  cove  in  their  canoe.  When  they  were 
near  the  sound  he  would  give  the  canoe  a  little 
shake,  whereupon  Master  should  carefully  open 
the  slide  and  throw  its  light  along  the  edge  of 
the  pond.  If  he  saw  the  glow  of  a  pair  of  eyes 
he  was  to  aim  between  them  and  fire. 

They  tiptoed  to  the  landing,  lifted  their 
canoe  into  water,  and,  without  a  sound  louder 

239 


Silas  Strong 

than  the  rustle  of  their  garments  or  the  fall  of 
a  water-drop,  took  their  places,  Master  in  the 
bow  and  Strong  in  the  paddle -seat  behind  him. 
The  hunter  leaned  forward  and  felt  for  bottom 
and  gave  her  a  careful  shove.  Then,  with  a 
little  movement  of  his  back,  he  tossed  his  weight 
against  the  cedar  shell  and  it  moved  slowly  into 
the  black  hollow  of  Catamount.  The  hunter 
sank  his  paddle-blade.  It  pulled  in  little,  silent, 
whirling  slashes.  The  canoe  sheared  off  into 
thick  gloom,  cleaving  its  way  with  a  movement 
soundless  and  indistinguishable. 

For  a  few  seconds  Master  felt  a  weird  touch  of 
the  soul  in  him  —  as  if,  indeed,  it  were  being 
stripped  of  its  body  and  were  parting  with  the 
senses.  Then  he  could  scarcely  resist  the  im 
pression  that  he  had  risen  above  the  earth  and 
begun  a  journey  through  the  black,  silent  air. 
So,  for  a  breath,  his  consciousness  had  seemed 
to  stray  from  its  centre;  then,  quickly,  it  came 
back.  He  began  to  know  of  that  which,  merci 
fully,  in  the  common  business  of  life,  is  just  be 
yond  the  reach  of  sense.  He  could  hear  the 
muffled  rivers  of  blood  in  his  own  body ;  he  felt 
his  heart-beat  in  the  fibres  of  the  slender  craft 
beneath  him,  sensitive  as  a  bell;  he  became 
strangely  conscious  of  the  great,  oxlike  body 

240 


Silas  Strong 

behind  him  —  of  moving  muscles  in  arm  and 
shoulder,  of  the  filling  and  emptying  of  its  lungs, 
of  its  stealthy,  eager  attitude. 

The  night  life  of  the  woods  was  beginning — 
that  of  beasts  and  birds  that  see  and  wander  and 
devour  in  the  darkness.  From  far  away  the 
faint,  wild  cry  of  one  of  them  wavered  through 
the  woods.  It  was  like  the  yell  of  a  reveller  in 
the  midnight  silence  of  a  city. 

The  sky  was  overcast.  Dimly  Master  could 
see  the  dying  flicker  of  his  firelight  on  the  mist 
before  him.  A  little  current  of  air,  nearly  spent, 
crept  over  the  pine-tops  and  they  began  to 
whisper.  The  young  man  thought  of  the  big, 
blue,  tender  eyes  which  had  looked  up  at  him 
that  day,  so  full  of  childish  innocence  and  yet 
full  of  the  charm  and  power  of  womanhood. 

Master  turned  his  head  quickly.  Near  him 
he  had  heard  the  sound  of  a  deep-drawn,  shud 
dering  breath,  and  then  a  low  moan.  He 
thought  with  pity  of  the  poor  creature  now 
possibly  breathing  its  last.  He  was  eager  to 
end  its  agony.  He  trembled,  waiting  for  the 
signal  to  open  his  light.  The  bow  brushed  a 
lily-pad.  He  could  feel  the  paddle  backing  with 
its  muffled  stroke.  The  canoe  had  stopped. 

Again  he  heard  a  movement  in  the  brush.  It 
241 


Silas    Strong 

was  very  near;  he  could  feel  the  canoe  backing 
for  more  distance.  Then  he  felt  the  signal. 
That  little  shake  in  the  shell  of  cedar  had  seemed 
to  go  to  his  very  heart.  He  raised  his  hand 
carefully  and  opened  the  lantern  -  slide.  The 
beam  fell  upon  tall  grass  and  flashed  between 
little  columns  of  tamarack.  At  the  end  of  its 
misty  pathway  he  could  just  dimly  make  out 
the  foliage.  He  could  see  nothing  clearly. 

Again  he  felt  the  signal.  He  knew  that  the 
hunter  had  seen  the  game.  Now  the  light-beam 
illumined  the  top  of  his  rifle-barrel. 

Suddenly  the  trained  eye  of  Strong  had  caught 
the  gleam  of  eyes — then  the  faint  outline  of  lips 
dumb  with  terror.  He  struck  with  his  paddle 
and  swung  his  bow. 

The  hammer  fell.  A  little  flame  burst  out  of 
the  rifle-muzzle,  and  a  great  roar  shook  the  si 
lences.  A  shrill  cry  rang  in  its  first  echo.  The 
canoe  bounded  over  lily-pads  and  flung  her  bow 
on  the  bank  a  foot  above  water.  Master  sprang 
ashore  followed  by  Strong.  They  clambered 
up  the  bank. 

"Strong,  I've  killed  somebody,"  said  the 
young  man,  his  voice  full  of  the  distress  he  felt. 
He  swept  the  shore  with  his  light.  It  fell  on 
the  body  of  a  young  woman  lying  prone  among 

242 


Silas   Strong 

the  brakes.     Quickly  he  knelt  beside  her  and 
threw  the  light  upon  her  face. 

"My  God!  Come  here,  Strong!"  he  shouted, 
hoarsely. 

His  friend,  alarmed  by  his  cry,  hurried  to 
him.  Master  had  raised  the  head  of  Miss  Dun- 
more  upon  his  arm  and  was  moaning  pitiful 
ly.  He  covered  the  beautiful  white  face  with 
kisses. 

Strong,  who  stood  near  with  the  lantern,  had 
begun  to  stammer  in  an  effort  to  express  his 
thoughts. 

"K-keep  c-cool,"  he  soon  succeeded  in  saying. 
"  I  switched  the  canoe  an'  ye  n-never  t-touched 
her.  She's  scairt— th-that's  all." 

Edith  Dunmore  had  partly  risen  and  opened 
her  eyes.  Master  lifted  her  from  the  earth  and 
held  her  close  and  kissed  her.  His  joy  over 
came  him  so  that  the  words  he  tried  to  utter  fell 
half  spoken  from  his  lips.  She  clung  to  him,  and 
their  silence  and  their  tears  and  the  touch  of 
their  hands  were  full  of  that  assurance  for  which 
both  had  longed. 

"T-y-ty!"  Strong  whispered  as  he  held  the 
light  upon  them. 

For  a  long  moment  the  lovers  stood  in  each 
other's  embrace. 

243 


Silas    Strong 

"I  don't  know  why  I  came  here,"  said  she, 
presently,  in  a  troubled  voice. 

He  took  her  hands  in  his  and  raised  them  to 
his  lips. 

"  I  must  go;  I  must  go,"  she  said. 

"Come,  we  will  go  with  you,"  said  the  young 
man. 

He  put  his  arm  around  the  waist  of  the  girl. 
They  walked  slowly  up  the  side  of  the  ridge,  with 
Strong  beside  them,  throwing  light  upon  their 
path.  Master  heard  from  her  how  it  befell  that 
darkness  had  overtaken  her  in  the  basin  of  Cata 
mount,  and  she  learned  from  him  why  they  had 
come  out  in  their  canoe. 

"You  will  not  be  afraid  of  me  any  more,"  he 
said. 

She  stopped  and  raised  one  of  his  hands  and 
held  it  against  her  cheek  with  a  little  moan  of 
fondness.  Curiously  she  felt  his  face. 

'  *  It  is  so  dark — I  cannot  see  you ,"  she  whispered . 

"  I  loathe  the  darkness  that  hides  your  beauty 
from  me,"  said  the  young  man. 

Strong  turned  his  light  upon  her  face.  Tears 
glittered  in  the  lashes  of  her  eyes  and  a  new  peace 
and  trustfulness  were  upon  her  countenance. 

"We  shall  see  better  to-morrow,"  the  young 
man  said. 

244 


Silas    Strong 

"My  father  is  coming — he  will  be  angry — he 
will  not  let  me  see  you  again — "  Her  voice 
trembled  with  its  burden  of  trouble. 

"Leave  that  to  me  —  no  one  shall  keep  us 
apart,"  he  assured  her.  "I  will  see  him  to 
morrow  and  tell  him  all." 

They  walked  awhile  in  silence.  The  whistle 
blew  for  the  night-shift  at  Benson  Falls.  Its 
epic  note  bellowed  over  the  plains  and  up  and 
down  the  timbered  hills  of  the  Emperor.  It 
seemed  to  warn  the  trees  of  their  doom. 

She  thought  then  of  the  great  world,  and  said, 
"  I  will  go  with  you. ' ' 

"And  be  my  wife?" 

"Yes.     I  am  no  longer  afraid." 

"We  shall 'go  soon,"  he  answered. 

A  mile  or  so  from  the  shore  of  Buckhorn  they 
could  hear  the  voice  of  a  woman  calling  in  the 
still  woods,  and  they  answered.  Soon  they  saw 
the  light  of  a  lantern  approaching  in  the  trail. 
For  a  moment  Master  and  the  maiden  whispered 
together. 

Soon  the  old  nurse  and  servant  of  Edith  Dun- 
more  came  out  of  the  darkness  trembling  with 
fear  and  anxiety.     Gently  the  girl  patted  the 
,  bare  head  of  the  woman  as  she  whispered  to  her. 
In  a  moment  all  resumed  their  journey. 

245 


Silas    Strong 

When  they  had  come  to  Buckhorn  and  could 
see  the  camp-lights,  Master  launched  a  canoe 
and  took  the  girl  and  her  servant  across  the  pond. 
He  left  them  without  a  word  and  returned  to  the 
other  shore.  Strong  and  he  stood  for  a  moment 
listening.  Then  they  set  out  for  their  homes 
far  down  the  trail.  The  Emperor  was  busy 
"  thinking  out  thoughts." 

"Mountaneyous!"  he  muttered,  "g-great  an' 
p-powerful." 

For  the  second  time  in  his  life  he  felt  strongly 
moved  to  expression  and  seemed  to  be  feeling 
for  adequate  words.  Master  put  his  arm  around 
the  big  hunter  and  asked  him  what  he  meant. 

"Oh-h-h!  Oh-h-h!"  Strong  murmured,  in  a 
tone  of  singular  tenderness.  "P-purty!  purty! 
w-wonderful  purty!  She's  too  g-good  fer  this 
w-world.  I  jes'  f-felt  like  t-takin'  her  on  my 
b-back  an'  makin'  r-right  across  the  s-swamps 
an'  hills  fer  heaven." 

The  Emperor  wiped  his  eyes  and  added: 

"  You're  as  handy  with  a  g-gal  as  I  am  with  a 
f-fish-rod." 

Next  day  he  noted  this  conclusion  in  his 
memorandum-book : 

"Strong  cant  wait  much  longer.  He's  got  to  have 
a  guide  for  the  long  trail." 

246 


XXVI 

EXT  day  Master  went  to  Tillbury 
for  his  mail,  a  walk  of  some  twenty 
miles.  He  lingered  for  awhile  near 
the  shore  of  Buckhorn  on  his  way, 
but  saw  nothing  of  her  he  loved. 
Two  fishermen  had  arrived  at  Strong's,  and 
the  Emperor  had  taken  them  to  spring  holes  in 
the  lower  river. 

After  supper  that  evening  he  built  a  big  fire 
in  front  of  the  main  camp,  and  sat  down  beside 
the  fishermen  with  Socky  and  Sue  in  his  lap. 

Darkness  had  fallen  when  Dunmore  strode 
into  the  firelight. 

"Dwellers  in  the  long  house,"  he  said,  re 
moving  his  cap,  "I  am  glad  to  sit  by  your 
council  fire." 

"Had  supper?"  Strong  inquired. 
"No — give  me  a  doughnut   and  a  piece  of 
bread  and  butter.     I'll  eat  here  by  the  fire." 

He  took  the  children  in  his  arms  while  Strong 
went  to  prepare  his  luncheon. 

247 


Silas   Strong 

"I  love  and  fear  you,"  said  he.  "You  make 
me  think  of  things  forgotten." 

Of  late  Socky  had  thought  much  of  the  gen 
eral  subject  of  grandfathers.  He  knew  that 
they  were  highly  useful  members  of  society. 
He  had  seen  them  carry  children  on  their  backs 
and  draw  them  in  little  wagons.  This  fact  had 
caused  him  to  put  all  able-bodied  grandfathers 
in  the  high  rank  of  ponies  and  billy-goats.  His 
uncles  Silas  and  Robert  had  been  out  of  camp 
so  much  lately  they  had  been  of  slight  service 
to  him.  The  thought  that  a  grandfather  would 
be  more  reliable,  had  presented  itself,  and  he 
had  broached  the  subject  to  little  Sue.  How 
they  were  acquired — whether  they  were  bought 
or  "ketched"  or  just  given  away  to  any  who 
stood  in  need  of  them — neither  had  a  definite 
notion.  On  this  point  the  boy  went  to  his  aunt 
for  counsel.  She  told  him,  laughingly,  that  they 
were  " spoke  for"  in  a  sort  of  proposal  like  that 
of  marriage.  He  had  begun  to  think  very 
favorably  of  Mr.  Dunmore,  and  timidly  put  the 
question : 

"Are — are  you  anybody's  gran 'pa?" 

"No." 

"Mebbe  you'd  be  my  gran'pa,"  the  boy  sug 
gested,  soberly. 

248 


Silas    Strong 

"Maybe,"  said  Dunmore,  with  a  smile. 

"  We  could  play  horse  together  when  Uncle  Silas 
is  away,"  was  the  further  suggestion  of  Socky. 

"Why  not  play  horse  with  your  sister?" 

"She's  too  little — she  can't  draw  me." 

"Gran'pas  don't  make  the  best  horses,"  Dun- 
more  objected. 

'"'  Yes  they  do, "  Socky  stoutly  affirmed.  "  May 
Butler's  gran 'pa  draws  her  'round  everywhere  in 
a  little  cart." 

"Well,  that  shows  that  old  men  can  be  good 
for  something,"  said  Dunmore.  "Where's  your 
wagon?" 

Socky  ran  for  the  creaking  treasure. 

"Now  get  in — both  of  you,"  said  the  white- 
haired  man. 

Socky  and  Sue  mounted  the  wagon.  Dun- 
more  took  the  tongue -peg  in  both  hands  and 
began  to  draw  them  around  the  fire.  Their 
cries  of  pleasure  seemed  to  warm  his  heart.  He 
quickened  his  pace,  and  was  soon  trotting  in  a 
wide  circle  while  Zeb  ran  at  his  side  and  seemed 
to  urge  him  on. 

When,  wearied  by  his  exertion,  he  sat  down 
to  rest,  the  children  stood  close  beside  him  and 
felt  his  face  with  their  hands,  and  gave  him  the 
silent  blessing  of  full  confidence. 
17  249 


Silas    Strong 

For  Dunmore  there  was  a  kind  of  magic  in  it 
all.  Somehow  it  faced  him  about  and  set  him 
thinking  of  new  things.  That  elemental  appeal 
ot  the  little  folk  had  been  as  the  sunlight  break 
ing  through  clouds  and  falling  on  the  darkened 
earth.  In  his  lonely  heart  spring-time  had  re 
turned. 

The  children  climbed  upon  his  knees,  and  he 
began  a  curious  chant  with  closed  eyes  and 
trembling  voice.  The  firelight  fell  upon  his 
face  while  he  chanted  as  follows: 

"  I  hear  the  voices  of  little  children  ringing  like  silver 

bells, 
And  the  great  bells  answer  them — they  that  hang 

in  the  high  towers — 
The  dusky,  mouldering  towers  of  the  old  time,  of 

hope  and  love  and  friendship. 
They  call  me   in  the  silence  and  have  put  a  new 

song  in  my  mouth." 

So  he  went  on  singing  this  rough,  unmeasured 
song  of  the  old  time  as  if  his  heart  were  full  and 
could  not  hold  its  peace.  He  sang  of  childhood 
and  youth  and  of  joys  half  forgotten. 

Sinth  stood  waiting,  with  the  food  in  her 
hands,  before  he  finished. 

He  let  the  children  go  and  began  eating. 

"This  is  good,"  said  he,  "and  I  feel  like  bless- 
250 


Silas   Strong 


ing  every  one  of  you.  Sometimes  I  think  God 
looks  out  of  the  eyes  of  the  hungry.  " 

After  a  moment  he  added:  "Strong,  do  you 
remember  that  song  I  wrote  for  you  ?  It  gives 
the  signs  of  the  seasons.  I  believe  we  called  it 
'  The  Song  of  the  Venison-Tree."' 

The  Emperor  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  fire 
and  in  a  moment  began  to  sing.  It  is  a  curious 
fact  that  many  who  stammer  can  follow  the  rut 
of  familiar  music  without  betraying  their  infirm 
ity.  His  tongue  moved  at  an  easy  pace  in  the 
song  of 

THE   VENISON-TREE 


The   bus    -    y  cranes     go    back    an'    forth       a 


Mkfr  J  —  »  —  PI 

1                    i 

1         J       I" 

~M 

plough  -  in'    up     the     sky ; . .    The  wild-goose  drag  comes 


_& — j ps 

J_J — JHi^? 


down  the  wind,  an' goes     a -tear  -  in'     by;..      The 


« 


^ 


song  -  birds  sow      their    mu  -  sic . . . 
251 


in  the 


Silas  Strong 


blue  fields  o  -  ver     me, . .   An'  it  seems   to  grow  up 

I  N  S-4     ^]  -N — — I 


J 


in    -   to  thoughts  a  -  bout    the    ven  -  'son      tree. 

"The  busy  cranes  go  back  an*  forth  a-ploughin'  up 

the  sky; 
The  wild-goose  drag  comes  down  the  wind,  an'  goes 

a-tearin'  by; 
The  song-birds    sow  their  music  in  the  blue  fields 

over  me, 
An*  it   seems  to  grow  up  into  thoughts  about  the 

ven 'son-tree. 

"The  apple-blossoms  scatter  down — a  scented  summer 
snow, 

An'  man  an*  wind  an'  cloud  an*  sun  have  all  begun 
to  sow. 

The  green  hopes  come  a-sproutin'  up  somewhere  in 
side  o'  me, 

An*  it's  time  we  oughter  see  the  sprouts  upon  the 
ven 'son -tree. 

"  There's  velvet  on  the  willow  an*  there's  velvet  on  the 

horn — 
There's  new  silk  in  the  tree-top  an'  the  tassel  o'  the 

corn. 
The  woods  are  trimmed  fer  weddin's — an'  we're  all  in 

Sunday  cl'os, 

An'  the  bark  upon  the  ven'son-tree  is  redder  than 
a  rose. 

252 


Silas    Strong 

"The  days  are  still  an*  smoky  an*  the  nights  are 
growin'  cold, 

The  maples  are  a-drippin'  blood,  the  beeches  drippin' 
gold; 

The  briers  are  above  my  head,  the  brakes  above  my 
knee, 

An'  the  bark  is  gettin'  kind  o*  blue  upon  the  ven 'son- 
tree." 

Here  the  singer  whistled  and  drummed  with 
his  heels  upon  a  log  in  imitation  of  the  hurricane. 
Then  he  began  to  sing  of  the  coming  of  winter. 

The  white-haired  man  interrupted  him.  "  'Tis 
inadequate, ' '  said  he.  "  Let  me  try  to  express  the 
reaping  of  the  north  wind."  Dunmore  turned 
and  spoke  these  lines,  a  frown  suggesting  the  an 
gry  sky  upon  his  brow,  a  sound  like  that  of  the 
rising  storm  in  his  heavy  voice : 

"What  makes  the  big  trees  shake  an'  groan  as  if  they 

all  had   sinned? 
'Tis  God  A'mighty's  reaper  with  the  horses  o'  the 

wind. 
He  will  hitch  with  chains  of  lightning — He  will  urge 

with  thunder  call — 
He  will  try  the  rotten-hearted  'til  they  reel  and  break 

and  fall." 

"Now  go  on,"  Dunmore  requested,  as  he  re 
sumed  his  chair,  and  Silas  went  on: 

253 


Silas  Strong 


"The  leaves  are  driftin'  in  the  breeze  an'  gethered 

where  they  lie 
Are  the  colors  o'   the  sunset  an'   the   smell  o'   the 

windy  sky. 
The  squirrels  whisk  with  loaded  mouths  an'  stop  an' 

say  t'  me: 
'It's  time  t'  gether  in  the  fruit  upon  the  ven'son- 

tree.' 

'"What  makes  ye  look  so  anxious,  an'  what  makes 

ye  speak  so  low?' 
'It's   'cause   I'm   thinkin'  o'   the   place   where   I'm 

agoin'  t'  go. 
This  here  I've  been   a- tinker  in',  which  lays  acrost 

my  knee, 
Is  the  axe  that  I'm  a-usin'  fer  t'  fell  the  ven'son- 

tree. 

' '  I've  polished  up  the  iron  an'  I've  covered  it  with  ile; 
Its  bit  is  only  half  an  inch,  its  helve  is  half  a  mile.'" 

The  singer  pursed  his  lips  and  blew  in  imita 
tion  of  the  startled  deer. 

'"Whew!   what's   that   so  pesky?     Why,   it  kind  o' 

frightened  me.' 

'It's  the  wind  a-blowin'  through  the  top  o'  the  cute 
ol '  ven '  son- tree . " ' 

As  the  Emperor  ceased,  Dunmore  turned 
quickly,  his  black  eyes  glowing  in  the  firelight. 
Raising  his  right  hand  above  his  head,  he  chanted 
these  lines: 

254 


Silas   Strong 

"The  wilderness  shall  pass  away  like  Babylon  of  old, 
And  every  tree  shall  go  to  build  a  thing  of  greater 

mould ; 
The  chopper  he  shall  fall  to  earth  as  fell  the  mighty 

tree, 
And  his  timber  shall  be  used  to  build  a  nobler  man 

than  he." 

"Wh-what  do  ye  mean  by  his  t -timber?" 
Strong  asked. 

"His  character,"  Dunmore  answered.  "Men 
are  like  trees.  Some  are  hickory,  some  are  oak, 
some  are  cedar,  some  are  only  basswood.  Some 
are  strong,  beautiful,  generous;  some  are  small 
and  sickly  for  want  of  air  and  sunlight;  some 
are  as  selfish  and  quarrelsome  as  a  thorn-tree. 
Every  year  we  must  draw  energy  out  of  the 
great  breast  of  nature  and  put  on  a  fresh  ring 
of  wood.  We  must  grow  or  die.  You  know 
what  comes  to  the  rotten-hearted?" 

"Uh-huh,"  said  the  hunter. 

"There's  good  timber  enough  in  you  and  in 
that  little  book  of  yours,"  Dunmore  went  on. 
"If  it's  only  milled  with  judgment  —  some  of 
it  would  stand  planing  and  polishing — there's 
enough,  my  friend,  to  make  a  mansion.  Be 
lieve  me,  it  will  not  be  lost." 

Strong  looked  very  thoughtful.  He  shook 
his  head.  "Ain't  nothin'  b-but  a  woodpecker's 

255 


Silas    Strong 

drum,"  he  answered.  After  a  moment  of  silence 
he  asked,  "What  '11  become  o'  the  country?" 

"Without  forests  it  will  go  the  way  of  Egypt 
and  Asia  Minor,"  said  the  white-haired  man. 
"They  were  thickly  wooded  in  the  day  of  their 
power.  Now  what  are  they?  Desert  wastes!" 
Dunmore  rose  and  filled  his  lungs,  and  added: 
"As  you  said  to  me  one  day,  'People  are  no 
better  than  the  air  they  breathe.'  There's  going 
to  be  nothing  but  cities,  and  slowly  they  will 
devour  our  substance.  Indigestion,  weakness, 
impotency,  degeneration  will  follow. 

"  Strong,  I'm  already  on  the  downward  path. 
Half  a  day's  walk  has  undone  me.  I'll  get  to 
bed  and  go  home  in  the  morning." 


XXVII 


UNMORE  was  up  at  daybreak. 
He  set  out  in  the  dusk  and,  as  the 
sun  rose,  entered  the  hollow  of 
Catamount.  Master  met  him  on 
the  trail. 

They  greeted  each  other.  Then  said  the  young 
man,  "I  have  something  to  say  regarding  one 
very  dear  to  me  and  to  you." 

Promptly  and  almost  aggressively  the  query 
came,  "Regarding  whom?" 
"Your  daughter." 

Dunmore  took  a  staggering  step  and  stopped 
and  looked  sternly  at  Master. 

"I  met  her  by  chance — "  the  other  began  to 
say.  Dunmore  interrupted  him. 

"  I  will  not  speak  with  you  of  my  daughter," 
he  said.  He  turned  away,  frowning,  and  re 
sumed  his  journey. 

"You  are  unjust  to  her  and  to  me,"  said 
Master.  "You  have  no  right  to  imprison  the 
girl." 

25? 


Silas    Strong 

The  white-haired  man  hurried  on  his  way  and 
made  no  answer. 

Master  had  seen  a  strange  look  come  into  the 
eyes  of  Dunmore.  That  trouble,  of  which  he 
had  once  heard,  might  have  gone  deeper  than 
any  one  knew.  It  might  have  left  him  a  little 
out  of  balance. 

Full  of  alarm,  the  young  lover  hastened  to 
Lost  River  camp.  He  found  his  friend  at  the 
spring  and  told  of  his  ill  luck.  Without  a  word 
Strong  killed  the  big  trout  which  he  had  taken 
that  day  he  fished  with  the  pouters. 

"D-didn't  tell  him  'bout  that  t-trout,"  he 
said  to  Master  as  he  wrapped  the  fish  in  ferns 
and  flung  him  into  his  pack.  "Th-thought  I 
b-better  wait  an'  s-see." 

He  asked  the  young  man  to  "keep  cool,"  and 
made  off  in  the  trail  to  Buckhorn. 

Always  when  starting  on  a  journey  he  reckon 
ed  his  task  and  set  his  pace  accordingly  and  kept 
it  up  hill  and  down.  He  was  wont  to  take  an 
easy,  swinging  stride  even  though  he  was  loaded 
heavily.  Woodsmen  who  followed  him  used  to 
say  that  he  could  bear  "weight  an'  misery  like 
a  bob-sled."  That  day  he  lengthened  his  usual 
stride  a  little  and  calculated  to  "fetch  up"  with 
Dunmore  about  a  mile  from  Buckhorn.  The 

258 


Silas    Strong 


older  man  had  hurried,  however,  and  was  near- 
ing  the  pond  when  Strong  overtook  him. 

"What  now?"  Dunmore  inquired. 

"B -business,"  was  the  cheerful  answer  of 
Strong. 

"  It  '11  be  part  of  it  to  paddle  me  across  the 
pond.  I'm  tired,"  said  the  other. 

They  walked  in  silence  to  the  shore.  Strong 
launched  a  canoe  and  held  it  for  the  white-haired 
man.  Without  a  word  he  pulled  to  the  camp 
veranda  where  Dunmore 's  mother  and  daugh 
ter  stood  waiting.  The  old  gentleman  climbed 
the  steps  and  greeted  the  two  with  great  tender 
ness. 

"Snares!"  he  muttered,  as  he  touched  the 
brow  of  his  daughter.  "The  devil  is  setting 
snares  for  my  little  nun." 

Edith  and  her  grandmother  went  into  the 
house.  Dunmore  sat  down  with  a  stern, 
troubled  look. 

"Got  s-suthin'  fer  you,"  said  Strong  as  he 
held  up  the  big  fish.  "  C'ris'mus  p-present!" 

Dunmore  turned  to  the  hunter,  and  instantly 
a  smile  seemed  to  brush  the  shadows  from  his 
wrinkled  face. 

"It's  your  t- trout,"  the  Emperor  added. 
"S-see  there!" 

259 


Silas    Strong 

He  opened  the  jaws  of  the  fish  and  showed  tne 
encysted  remnant  of  a  black  gnat. 

"Bring  him  here,"  Dunmore  entreated,  with 
a  look  of  delight. 

Strong  mounted  the  steps  and  put  the  trout 
in  his  hands. 

"  Sit  down  and  tell  me  how  and  where  you  got 
him,"  said  Dunmore. 

Strong  told  the  story  of  his  capture,  and  the 
old  gentleman  was  transported  to  that  familiar 
place  in  the  midst  of  the  quick-water.  The 
Emperor  had  not  finished  his  account  when  the 
other  interrupted  him.  Dunmore  told  of  days, 
forever  memorable,  when  he  had  leaned  over  the 
bank  and  seen  his  flies  come  hurtling  up  the 
current;  of  moments  when  he  had  heard  the 
splash  of  the  big  trout  and  felt  his  line  hauling; 
of  repeated  struggles  which  had  ended  in  defeat. 
The  white-haired  man  was  in  his  best  humor. 
Strong  saw  his  opportunity. 

"I  w-want  a  favor,"  said  he. 

Dunmore  turned  with  a  look  of  inquiry.  The 
Emperor  urged  his  lazy  tongue. 

"Master  w-wants  t'  go  t'  Albany  an'  f-fight 
•them  air  cussed  ballhooters.  W-wisht  you'd 
g-go  out  to  caucus." 

A  "ballhooter"  was  a  man  who  rolled  logs, 
260 


Silas    Strong 


and  Strong   used  the  word  in  a   metaphorical 
sense. 

"I  don't  vote,"  said  Dunmore,  and  in  half  a 
moment  he  added  just  what  the  Emperor  had 
hoped  for : 

"What  do  you  know  about  him?" 

"He's  a  g-gentleman  —  an'  his  f-father's  a 
gentleman." 

A  moment  of  silence  followed. 

"  He's  the  b-best  chap  that  ever  c-cometo  my 
camp,"  Strong  added. 

Dunmore  came  close  to  the  Emperor  and  spoke 
in  a  low  tone. 

"  Tell  him,"  said  he,  "  that  I  send  apologies  for 
my  rudeness — he  will  understand  you.  Tell  him 
to  let  us  alone  awhile.  I  have  been  foolish,  but 
I  am  changing.  Tell  him  if  marriage  is  in  his 
mind  I  cannot  now  bear  to  think  of  it.  But  I 
will  try—" 

Dunmore  paused,  looking  down  thoughtfully, 
his  hand  over  his  mouth. 

"I  will  try,"  he  repeated,  in  a  whisper,  "and, 
if  he  will  let  us  alone,  some  day  I  may  ask  you 
to  bring  him  here.  You  tell  him  to  be  wise  and 
keep  away." 

Strong  nodded,  with  full  understanding  of  all 
that  lay  behind  the  message. 

261 


Silas   Strong 

The  old  lady  came  out  of  the  door  and  that 
ended  their  interview.  She  spoke  to  Strong 
with  a  kindly  query  as  to  his  sister,  and  then 
came  a  great  surprise  for  him. 

"I  wish  she  would  come  and  visit  me,"  said 
the  old  lady.  "And  I  would  love  also  to  see 
those  little  children." 

Dunmore  took  the  hand  of  his  mother  and  no 
word  was  spoken  for  half  a  moment. 

"It's  a  good  idea,"  he  said,  thoughtfully. 
Then,  turning  to  Strong,  he  added:  "We  shall 
ask  them  to  come  soon.  I  shall  want  to  see 
those  children  again." 

In  the  moment  of  silence  that  followed  he 
thought  of  those  little  people — of  how  they  had 
begun  to  soften  his  heart  and  prepare  him  for 
what  had  come. 

The  Emperor  paddled  back  to  the  landing  and 
returned  to  Lost  River  camp. 


XXVIII 


ASTER  accepted  the  counsel  of 
his  friend  and  kept  away  from 
Buckhorn.  He  was,  at  least,  re 
lieved  of  the  dark  fears  which 
Dunmore's  angry  face  had  im 
parted  to  him.  He  left  camp  to  look  after  his 
canvass  and  was  gone  a  fortnight.  Strong  had 
promised  to  let  him  know  if  any  word  came  down 
the  trail  from  their  neighbors.  The  young  man 
returned  to  his  little  shanty  at  Catamount  and 
suffered  there  a  sublime  sort  of  loneliness.  The 
silence  of  Dunmore  seemed  to  fill  the  woods. 
Every  day  Master  went  to  Birch  Cove  and  wan 
dered  through  the  deer  trails.  Every  graceful 
thing  in  the  still  woods  reminded  him  of  her 
beauty  and  every  bird-song  had  the  music  of  her 
voice  in  it.  He  began  to  think  of  her  as  the 
embodied  spirit  of  the  woodland.  She  was  like 
Strong  himself,  but  Strong  was  the  great  pine- 
tree  while  she  was  like  the  young,  white  birches. 
One  bright  morning — it  was  nearly  a  month 
263 


Silas   Strong 

after  Strong  had  returned  from  Buckhorn— 
Sinth  put  on  her  best  clothes  and  started  for  the 
camp  of  Dunmore  alone.  The  Emperor  had 
gone  away  with  some  fishermen  and  Master 
with  the  children. 

Sinth  had  said  nothing  of  her  purpose.  Her 
heart  was  in  the  cause  of  the  young  people,  and 
she  had  waited  long  enough  for  developments. 
The  injustice  and  the  folly  of  Dunmore  filled 
her  with  indignation.  She  had  her  own  private 
notion  of  what  she  was  going  to  say,  if  necessary, 
and  was  of  no  mind  to  " mince  matters." 

She  stood  for  a  few  moments  at  the  landing  on 
Buckhorn  and  waved  her  handkerchief.  The 
old  lady  saw  her  and  sent  the  colored  man 
servant  to  fetch  her  across.  Dunmore  and  his 
mother  welcomed  her  at  the  veranda  steps. 

"My  land!  So  you're  Mis'  Dunmore!"  said 
Sinth,  coolly,  as  she  took  a  chair  and  glanced 
about  her. 

"Yes,  and  very  glad  to  see  you." 

"  An'  you've  stayed  fifteen  years  in  this  camp  ?" 

The  old  lady  nodded.  "  It's  a  long  time,"  said 
she. 

"It's  a  wonder  ye  ain't  all  dead — livin'  here 
on  the  bank  of  a  pond  like  a  lot  o'  mushrats!" 
Sinth  went  on.  "  Cyrus  Dunmore,  you  ought  t' 

264 


Silas    Strong 


be  ''shamed  o'  yerself.  Heavens  an'  earth!  I 
never  heard  o'  nothin'  so  unhuman." 

A  moment  of  silence  followed.  Dunmore 
smiled.  He  had  never  been  talked  to  in  that 
way.  The  droll  frankness  of  the  woman  amused 
him. 

"  I  mean  jest  what  I  say  an'  more  too,"  Sinth 
went  on.  "  You  'ain't  done  right,  an'  if  you  can't 
see  it  you  'ain't  got  common-sense.  My  stars! 
I  don't  care  how  much  trouble  you've  had.  A 
man  that  can't  take  his  pack  full  o'  trouble  an' 
keep  agoin'  is  a  purty  poor  stick.  I  know  what 
'tis  to  be  disapp'inted.  Good  gracious  me!  you 
needn't  think  you're  the  only  one  that  ever  got 
hurt.  The  Lord  has  took  away  ev'ry thing  I 
loved  'cept  one.  He  'ain't  left  me  nothin'  but 
a  brother  an'  a  weak  back  an'  lots  o'  work  t' 
do,  an'  a  pair  o'  hands  an'  feet  an'  a  head  like  a 
turnup.  He's  blessed  you  in  a  thousan'  ways. 
He's  gi'n  ye  health  an'  strength  an'  talents  an' 
a  gal  that's  more  like  an  angel  than  a  human 
bein',  an'  you  don't  do  nothin'  but  set  aroun' 
here  an'  sulk  an'  write  portry!" 

Sinth  gave  her  dress  a  flirt  and  flung  a  look 
of  unspeakable  contempt  at  him.  The  face  of 
Dunmore  grew  serious.  Her  honesty  had,  some 
how,  disarmed  the  man — it  was  like  the  honesty 
is  265 


Silas    Strong 

of  his  own  conscience.  There  had  been  a  note 
of  strange  authority  in  her  voice  —  like  that 
which  had  come  to  him  now  and  then  out  of  the 
depths  of  his  own  spirit. 

"  Suppose  every  one  that  got  a  taste  o'  trouble 
was  t'  fly  mad  like  a  little  boy  an'  say  he  wouldn't 
play  no  more,"  Sinth  went  on.  "My  land!  we 
wouldn't  be  no  better  than  a  lot  o'  cats  an'  dogs 
that's  all  fit  out  an'  hid  under  a  barn!  Cyrus 
Dunmore,  you  act  like  a  little  boy.  You  won't 
play  yerself  an'  ye  won't  let  these  women  play 
nuther.  You're  as  selfish  as  a  bear.  You  'ain't 
got  no  right  t'  keep  'em  here,  an'  if  you  don't 
know  it  you  better  go  t'  school  somewhere. 
Now  there's  my  mind  right  out  plain  an' 
square." 

She  rearranged  her  Paisley  shawl  with  a  little 
squirm  of  indignation. 

Dunmore  paced  up  and  down  for  half  a  mo 
ment,  a  troubled  look  on  his  face.  He  stopped 
in  front  of  Sinth. 

"Boneka,  madam,"  said  he,  extending  his 
hand. 

"I  forgive,"  said  Sinth,  quickly,  "providin' 
you'll  try  to  do  better.  It's  nonsense  to  forgive 
any  one  'less  he'll  quit  makin'  it  nec'sary." 

"I  acknowledge  here  in  the  presence  of  my 
266 


Silas   Strong 


mother,"  said  Dunmore,   "that  all  you  say  is 
quite  right.     I  have  been  a  fool." 

Sinth  rose  and  adjusted  her  shawl  as  if  to 
warn  them  that  she  must  go. 

"Wai,  I'm  glad  you've  come  t'  yer  senses," 
said  she,  with  a  glance  at  the  man.  "  'Tain't 
none  o'  my  business,  but  I  couldn't  hold  in  no 
longer.  I've  fell  in  love  with  that  girl  o'  your'n. 
She's  as  purty  as  a  yearling  doe." 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  would  have  done  with 
out  her, ' '  said  the  old  lady.  "  Since  she  was  a  little 
girl  she's  been  eyes  and  hands  and  feet  for  me.  I 
fear  that  I  'm  most  to  blame  for  her  imprisonment . ' ' 

As  she  talked  the  indignation  of  Sinth  wore 
away.  Soon  Dunmore  helped  her  into  his  canoe 
and  set  her  across  the  pond. 

"I'll  find  out  about  the  young  man,"  said  he, 
as  they  parted.  "  He'll  hear  from  me." 

One  day  soon  after  that  Dunmore  began  to 
think  of  the  children.  In  spite  of  himself  he 
longed  to  see  them  again.  He  started  for  the 
camp  at  Lost  River,  and  planned  while  there  to 
have  a  talk  with  Strong  and  Master.  At  Nick 
Pond,  on  his  way  down,  he  met  the  two  Migleys. 

After  his  interview  with  them  he  decided  that 
he  must  have  more  information  regarding  the 
young  man  before  going  farther. 

267 


XXIX 

ORE  than  a  month  had  passed 
since  the  journey  of  Sinth  to  Buck- 
horn  ;  but  nothing  had  come  of  it. 
Silas,  tramping  with  a  party  of 
fishermen,  had  met  Dunmore  one 
day,  but  the  latter  had  stopped  only  for  a  word 
of  greeting. 

Master  had  left  his  little  camp  and  Strong  was 
to  send  for  him  on  the  arrival  of  important  news. 
The  candidate  had  canvassed  every  mill  village 
among  the  foot-hills  of  the  county  but  had  found 
it  up-hill  work.  Many  voters  had  lately  become 
bosom  friends  of  Joe  Socket,  the  able  post 
master  at  Moon  Lake.  Once  Master  had  wan 
dered  into  the  Emperor's  camp  with  a  plan  to 
invade  the  stronghold  of  Dunmore  and  release 
the  girl  if,  perchance,  she  might  desire  to  be  free. 
Strong  had  wisely  turned  the  young  man's 
thought  from  all  violence.  He  had  taken  out 
his  old  memorandum-book  and  pointed  to  this 
entry  : 

268 


Silas    Strong 

"  Strong  says  the  best  thing  fer  a  man  to  do  in  hell  is 
kepe  cool.  Excitement  will  increase  the  heat." 

So  a  foolish  purpose  had  ended  in  a  laugh. 

Since  midsummer  some  rain  had  fallen,  but 
not  enough  to  slake  the  thirst  of  the  dry  earth. 
Now  in  the  third  week  of  September  the  tops 
were  ragged  and  the  forest  floor  strewn  with  new 
leaves  and  with  great  rugs  of  sunlight.  Big, 
hurtling  flakes  of  red  and  gold  fell  slowly  and 
shook  out  the  odors  of  that  upper,  fairy  world  of 
which  Edith  Dunmore  had  told  the  children. 

One  still,  sunlit  day  of  that  week  the  old 
struggle  between  Satan  and  Silas  Strong  reached 
a  critical  stage.  Sinth  had  gone  for  a  walk  with 
Sue  and  Socky,  and  young  Migley,  coming  down 
from  his  camp  at  Nick,  had  found  the  Emperor 
alone.  He  was  overhauling  a  boat  in  his  little 
workshop. 

"Well,  Colonel,"  said  the  young  lumberman, 
"we  want  to  know  why  you're  fighting  us.1' 

Strong  had  lately  gone  over  to  the  scene  of  his 
quarrel  on  the  State  land  and  plugged  some  of 
the  pines  with  dynamite  and  -posted  warnings. 
He  had  rightly  reckoned  that  thereafter  the 
thieves  would  not  find  it  easy  to  hire  men  for 
that  job. 

269 


Silas    Strong 

"You're  f-fightin'  me,"  said  Strong,  as  he 
continued  his  work. 

"How's  that?" 

''C-cause  ye  ain't  honest." 

"Look  here,  Colonel,  you'd  better  fight  for 
us."  The  young  man  spoke  with  a  show  of 
feeling.  "We'd  like  to  be  friendly  with  you." 

Strong  went  on  with  his  work,  but  made  no 
answer. 

"  We're  only  taking  old  trees  that  are  dead  or 
dying  over  there  on  the  State  land.  Some  of 
'em  are  stag-headed — full  of  'widow-makers,'" 
said  Thomas  Migley. 

It  should  be  explained  that  a  big,  dead 
branch  was  called  a  "widow-maker"  by  the 
woods  folk. 

"We  shall  obey  the  law  and  pay  a  fine  for 
every  stump,"  the  young  man  continued. 
"That's  square." 

"N-no,"  said  the  Emperor,  firmly.  "That 
1-law  was  intended  to  p-protect  the  forest." 

"You  want  us  to  be  too honest  to  live," 

said  young  Migley,  with  an  oath. 

"N-no.  I'll  t-tell  ye  what's  the  matter  with 
y-you,"  said  Strong.  "  Y-you  'ain't  got  no  r-res- 
pec'  fer  God,  country,  man,  er  f-fish." 

"You  must  agree  to  stand  for  us  against  all 
270 


Silas   Strong 

comers  or  get  out  of  here  to-morrow,"  the  young 
man  added. 

"Th-that's  quick,"  said  Strong,  as  he  laid 
down  his  draw  -  shave  and  looked  at  Thomas 
Migley. 

"You  can  do  as  you  like,"  said  the  latter. 
"We're  willing  to  let  you  stay  here  as  long  as 
you  want  to." 

Strong  saw  clearly  that  the  words  were  a  bid 
for  his  manhood.  He  weighed  it  carefully — 
this  thing  they  were  seeking  to  purchase  —  he 
thought  of  his  sister  and  the  children,  of  his 
talk  with  Master  on  the  journey  from  Bees'  Hill. 
The  skin  upon  his  forehead  was  now  gathered 
into  long,  deep  furrows.  His  body  trembled  a 
little  as  he  rose  and  slowly  crossed  the  floor. 
There  was  a  kind  of  gentleness  in  his  hand  as 
he  touched  the  shoulder  of  the  young  man. 
He  spoke  almost  tenderly  one  would  have 
thought  who  heard  him  stammer  out  the  one 
word,  "Run."  Suddenly  his  big  hand  shut  like 
the  jaws  of  a  bear  on  Migley's  arm  and  then 
let  go. 

The  young  man  hesitated  and  was  rudely 
flung  through  the  open  door.  He  scrambled  to 
his  feet  and  made  for  the  trail  in  frantic  haste. 

"R-run!"  the  Emperor  shouted,  in  hot  pur- 
271 


Silas   Strong 

suit  of  young  Thomas  Migley,  whose  feet  flew 
with  ridiculous  animation. 

Strong  stopped  at  the  edge  of  the  clearing. 
He  leaned  against  a  tree-trunk  and  shook  his 
head  and  stammered  half  an  oath.  Soon  he 
hurried  into  one  of  the  cabins  and  sat  down. 
He  looked  about  him — at  the  fireplace  and  the 
mantel,  at  the  straight,  smooth  timbers  of  young 
spruce,  at  the  floor  of  wooden  blocks,  patiently 
fitted  together,  at  the  rustic  chairs  and  tables, 
at  the  sheathing  of  riven  cedar.  He  thought  of 
all  that  these  things  had  cost  him  and  for  a  mo 
ment  his  eyes  filled. 

He  went  to  the  cook-tent  and  found  a  map 
and  spread  it  on  the  table.  He  could  go  over 
on  the  State  land,  pitch  a  couple  of  tents  and 
build  a  shanty  with  a  paper  roof  and  siding,  and 
make  out  for  the  rest  of  the  summer.  There 
would  be  two  rivers  and  some  rather  wet  land  to 
cross.  For  a  few  moments  he  looked  thought 
fully  at  the  map.  Soon  he  took  out  his  worn 
memorandum-book  and  wrote  as  follows: 

"Sep  the  25.  Strong  has  a  poor  set  of  feelin's  in 
him  Satans  ahed  but  Strong  will  flore  him" 

He  took  his  axe  and  saw  and  went  to  a  big 
birch-tree  which  he  had  felled  in  the  edge  of  the 

272 


Silas    Strong 

clearing  a  few  days  before.  He  cut  a  twelve- 
foot  log  out  of  the  trunk  and  began  to  hollow  it. 
He  stuck  his  axe  when  he  heard  Sinth  and  the 
children  corning.  He  lifted  Socky  and  Sue  in  his 
arms  and  carried  them  into  camp. 

"G-goin'  t'  m-move,"  he  said  to  Sinth  as  he 
put  them  down. 

' '  Move ! "  his  sister  exclaimed .  ' '  They  're  going 
to  put  us  out?" 

Gently,  fearfully,  he  whispered,  "Ay-uh — " 

Sinth  turned  and  hurried  into  the  cook-tent. 
It  was  curious  that  she,  who  had  raised  her 
voice  against  the  camp  whenever  a  new  plan 
had  been  proposed,  who  had  seen  nothing  but 
folly,  one  would  think,  in  its  erection  or  their 
life  in  it,  should  now  lean  her  head  upon  the 
table  and  sob  as  if  her  dearest  possession  had 
been  taken  away.  The  Emperor  followed  and 
sat  down  at  the  table,  his  faded  crown  of  felt 
hanging  over  one  ear — a  dejected  and  sorrowful 
creature. 

"D-don't,"  he  said,  tenderly. 

The  children  stood  with  open  mouths  peering 
in  at  the  door.  Sinth 's  emotion  slowly  subsided. 

"You've  worked  so,  Silas,"  Sinth  moaned, 
as  she  sat  wiping  her  eyes.  "You've  had  to 
carry  ev'rything  in  here  on  your  back." 

273 


Silas    Strong 

After  all,  it  had  been  a  tender  thought  of  him 
which  had  inspired  all  her  scolding  and  her 
weeping.  He  had  always  known  the  truth,  but 
he  alone  of  all  the  many  who  had  falsely  judged 
her  had  known  it.  Strong  sat  looking  down 
soberly  in  the  silence  that  followed.  His  voice 
trembled  a  little  when  he  spoke. 

"G-got  'nother  house,"  said  he,  calmly.  His 
voice  sank  to  a  whisper  as  he  added,  "  Couldn't 
b-bear  t'  see  it  t-tore  down." 

Failing  to  understand,  she  looked  up  at  him. 

"  Myself,"  he  added,  as  he  rose  and  smote  his 
chest  with  his  heavy  right  hand.  He  explained 
in  a  moment — "M-Migley  wanted  t'  b-buy  me." 

He  put  his  hand  on  his  sister's  head  and  said, 
"  B -better  times. ' '  After  a  little  silence  he  added, 
"Yous-see." 

He  left  her  sitting  with  her  head  leaning  on 
her  hand  in  deep  and  sorrowful  meditation. 
He  had  built  a  fire  in  the  stove  and  got  their 
supper  well  under  way  before  she  joined  him. 

While  Sinth  was  making  her  tearful  protest, 
the  children  sat  on  a  log  outside  the  door  and 
were  much  depressed. 

"  Somebody's  gone  and  done  something  to  her 
album,"  Sue  whispered.  The  album  was,  in  her 
view,  the  storm-centre  of  the  camp. 

274 


Silas   Strong 

After  Strong  had  gone  to  work  getting  supper 
ready  the  two  came  stealthily  to  the  knees  of 
their  aunt. 

"Aunt  Sinthy,"  Socky  whispered. 

"What?"  she  asked,  turning  and  beginning 
to  smooth  his  hair  with  her  hand. 

"I'm  going  to  buy  you  a  new  album."  He 
spoke  in  a  low,  tentative,  troubled  tone.  The 
boy's  resources  would  seem  to  be  equal  to  every 
need. 

Sinth  shook  with  silent  laughter.  In  a  mo 
ment  she  kissed  the  boy  and  girl  and  drew  them 
to  her  breast  with  a  little  moan  of  fondness. 
Then  she  rose  and  went  to  help  her  brother. 

A  little  before  sundown  they  heard  the  report 
of  a  rifle  which  had  been  fired  within  a  mile  of 
camp.  Strong  stood  listening  and  could  hear 
distant  voices.  He  walked  down  the  trail  and 
returned  in  half  an  hour. 

"It's  B-Business,"  he  said  to  Sinth.  "His 
army  is  c-cominV 


XXX 

RONG  was  chopping  and  hew 
ing  on  his  birch  log  until  late 
bedtime.  He  was  like  Noah  get 
ting  ready  for  the  destruction  of 
the  world.  Having  finished,  he 
took  his  lantern  off  a  branch  beside  him  and 
surveyed  a  singular  device.  He  called  it  a  boat- 
jumper,  and,  inspired  by  a  thought  of  the  chil 
dren,  whispered  to  himself,  "Uncle  S-Silas  is 
improvinV  It  was  a  mere  shell  about  two 
inches  thick,  flat  on  the  bottom  and  sheared  on 
one  end,  canoe -fashion.  It  would  serve  as  a 
jumper — a  rough,  sledlike  conveyance — on  the 
ground  and  as  a  boat  on  the  rivers;  it  would 
carry  Sinth  and  the  children,  with  tents,  blank 
ets,  provisions,  and  bedding  enough  to  last  until 
he  could  return  for  more. 

He  hurried  to  camp  and  helped  his  sister  with 
the  packing.  When  a  dozen  great  bundles  lay 
on  the  floor,  ready  for  removal,  Sinth  went  to 
bed.  But  the  tireless  Emperor  had  more  work 

276 


Silas    Strong 

to  do.  He  made  two  seats,  with  back-rests  upon 
each,  for  the  boat-jumper  and  fastened  a  whiffle- 
tree  to  the  bow  end  of  the  same.  On  its  stern  he 
put  two  handles — like  those  of  a  plough — so  that 
he  might  lay  hold  of  them  and  steady  the  jumper 
in  rough  places. 

Next  morning  a  little  before  sunrise  he  made 
off  on  the  trail  to  Pitkin. 

At  the  general  store  and  post-office  in  that 
hamlet  he  received  a  letter.  It  was  from  the 
forest,  fish,  and  game  commissioner,  who  thus 
addressed  him: 

"  DEAR  MR.  STRONG, — I  hear  that  timber  thieves  and 
deer-slayers  are  operating  on  State  land  near  Rainbow 
Lake.  I  learn  also  that  you  are  about  to  leave  your 
camp  at  Lost  River.  If  that  is  true  I  wish  you  would 
accept  an  appointment  as  deputy  for  that  district  and 
go  at  once  and  do  what  you  can  to  protect  the  valley 
of  Rainbow.  The  salary  would  be  five  hundred  dollars. 
A  letter  just  received  informs  me  that '  Red '  Macdonald 
is  there  with  dogs.  If  you  could  deliver  him  into  cus 
tody  you  would  be  a  public  benefactor,  but  I  warn  you 
that  he  is  a  desperate  man.  Please  let  me  hear  from 
you  immediately." 

This  gave  Strong  a  new  and  grateful  sense  of 
being  "ahead."  Before  leaving  the  post-office 
he  penned  his  acceptance  of  the  offer.  Then  he 
proceeded  to  the  home  of  Annette  and  found  her 

277 


Silas    Strong 

gone  for  the  day.  He  sat  down  at  the  dinner- 
table  and  wrote  these  lines  with  all  the  delibera 
tion  their  significance  merited: 

"DEER  LADY, — In  Ogdensburg  an'  anxious  to  move. 
Patrick  can  snake  me  out.     Meet  me  at  Benson  Falls 
Friday  if  possibul  an'  youll  heare  some  talkin'  done  by 
"yours  hopin  fer  better  times, 

"S.  STRONG. 
"P.S.  Strong's  ahed." 

Meanwhile  Sinth  was  in  trouble.  Young  Mr. 
Migley  had  come,  with  a  gang  of  sawyers  and 
axemen,  to  dethrone  the  Emperor  and  take 
possession.  He  had  his  customary  get-off-the- 
earth  air  about  him — an  air  that  often  accom 
panies  the  title  to  vast  acreage.  He  found  only 
Sinth  and  the  children  and  summarily  ordered 
them  to  leave.  Then  she  gave  him  what  she 
called  "a  piece  of  her  mind."  It  was  a  good- 
sized  piece,  all  truth  and  just  measure. 

While  the  furniture  was  being  thrown  out-of- 
doors  she  got  ready  to  go.  In  the  heart  of  Sinth 
indignation  had  supplanted  sorrow.  It  was  in 
her  countenance  and  the  vigor  of  her  foot-fall 
and  in  the  way  that  she  filled  and  closed  and 
handled  her  satchel.  Some  of  the  brawny  woods 
men  stood  looking  as  she  and  the  children  came 

278 


Silas    Strong 

out-of-doors — a  solemn-faced  little  company. 
Something  from  the  hearts  of  the  men  made 
Sinth  touch  her  eyes  with  her  handkerchief. 
Then  a  curious  thing  happened.  Some  of  the 
lumber-jacks  dropped  their  saws  and  axes. 

Those  people  could  forgive  much  in  "a  good 
fellow" — they  could  forgive  almost  any  infamy, 
it  would  seem,  but  the  stony  heart.  Let  one 
do  a  'mean  thing  and  rouse  their  quick  sym 
pathies  a  little  and  their  oaths  were  as  a  dead 
ly,  fateful  curse  upon  him.  They  never  forgot 
the  tear  of  sympathy  or  the  wrath  of  resent 
ment. 

The  sorrow  of  the  weak  now  seemed  to  touch 
the  hearts  of  the  strong.  The  children,  seeing 
the  tears  of  their  aunt  as  she  turned  for  a  last 
look  at  her  home,  followed  slowly  with  an  air 
of  great  dejection.  Then  a  strange  pathos  rose 
out  of  their  littleness,  and  an  ancient  law 
seemed  to  be  writ  upon  the  faces  of  the  men: 
"Whoso  shall  offend  one  of  these  little  ones 
which  believe  in  Me,  it  were  better  for  him  that  a 
millstone  were  hanged  about  his  neck  and  that 
he  were  drowned  in  the  depth  of  the  sea." 

A  murmur  of  disapproval  arose,  and  suddenly 
one  voice  blared  a  sacred  name  coupled  and 
qualified  with  curious  adjectives — jumped  up, 

279 


Silas   Strong 

livin',  sufferin',  eternal — as  if  it  would  be  most 
explicit. 

"Boys,"  the  voice  added,  "I  can't  see  no 
woman  ner  no  childern  treated  that  way." 

A  man  took  the  satchel  out  of  Sinth's  hand. 

"You  stay  here,"  said  he.  "We  won't  stan' 
fer  this." 

Another  burly  woodsman  had  lifted  little  Sue 
in  his  arms. 

"I'm  goin'  down  the  trail  to  wait  fer  Silas," 
said  Sinth,  brokenly. 

She  put  out  her  hand  to  take  the  satchel. 

"We'll  carry  it  an'  the  childern  too,"  said  the 
woodsman,  whose  voice,  which  had  been  harsh 
and  profane,  now  had  a  touch  of  gentleness. 
They  made  their  way  down  the  trail  in  silence. 

"He  better  try  t'  be  a  statesman,"  said  one  of 
the  escort.  "  He  ain't  fit  t'  be  a  bullcook." 

They  passed  a  second  gang  with  horses  and  a 
big  jumper  bearing  supplies  for  the  camp.  The 
Emperor  had  surrendered;  the  green  hills  were 
taken.  Half  a  mile  or  so  from  the  camp  Sinth 
halted. 

"  I'll  wait  here,  thank  ye,"  said  she. 

With  offers  of  assistance  the  men  left  them  and 
returned. 

All  through  the  night  Sinth  had  been  thinking 
280 


Silas   Strong 

of  their  new  trouble  and  was  in  a  way  prepared 
for  the  worst.  But  now,  as  she  was  leaving  for 
ever  the  old,  familiar  trees  and  the  still  water  she 
sat  down  for  awhile  and  covered  her  face.  Al 
ready  the  saws  had  begun  their  work.  She 
could  hear  them  gnawing  and  hissing  and  the 
shouts  and  axes  of  the  woodsmen.  Socky  and 
Sue  came  near  their  aunt  and  stood  looking  at 
her,  their  cheeks  tear-stained,  their  sympathy 
now  and  then  shaking  them  with  half- suppressed 
sobs.  The  reason  for  their  departure  and  for 
the  coming  of  the  woodsmen  they  were  not  able 
to  understand.  Zeb  lay  lolling  on  his  stomach, 
bored,  but,  like  his  master,  hoping  for  better 
times. 

"Aunt  Sinthy — you  'fraid?"  Sue  ventured  to 
ask,  and  her  doll  hung  limp  from  her  right  hand. 

Socky  felt  his  sword  and  looked  up  into  the 
face  of  his  aunt. 

"Where  we  goin'?"  he  asked,  with  another 
silent  sob. 

"Ton  my  soul,  I  dunno,"  Sinth  answered, 
wearily. 

"Don't  you  be  'fraid,"  he  said,  waving  his 
sword  manfully. 

Sinth  took  her  knitting  out  of  the  satchel  and 
sat  down  comfortably  on  a  bed  of  leaves.  Zeb 

19  28l 


Silas    Strong 

began  to  growl  and  run  around  them  in  a  circle, 
like  the  cheerful  jester  that  he  was.  It  seemed 
as  if  he  were  trying  to  remind  them  that,  after 
all,  the  situation  was  not  hopeless.  He  con 
tinued  his  gyrations  until  Socky  and  Sue  joined 
him.  Soon  the  big  trees  began  falling  and  their 
thunder  and  the  hoots  of  the  "  briermen"  echoed 
far.  The  children  came  to  their  aunt. 

"What's  that?"  they  asked,  with  awe  in  their 
faces. 

"The  trees,"  Sinth  answered,  solemnly. 
"They're  a-mowin'  of  'em  down." 

In  a  moment,  thinking  of  the  young  man  who 
had  heartlessly  put  her  out,  she  added: 

"  I  guess  he'll  find  he's  hurt  himself  more'n  he 
has  us." 

"Who?"  Socky  asked. 

"That  mehopper." 

The  children  turned  with  a  look  of  interest. 

"What's  a  mehopper?"  Socky  asked. 

Sinth  sat  looking  thoughtfully  at  her  knit 
ting. 

"  He  steals  folks'  albums,"  said  Sue,  confident 
ly,  "an'  he  can  run  like  a  deer." 

"Ain't  a  bit  like  a  deer,"  Sinth  responded. 
"  He  can't  go  nowhere  but  down-hill — that's  why 
ye  always  find  him  in  low  places — an'  he's  so 

282 


Silas    Strong 

'fraid  folks  won't  see  him  that  he  swears  an* 
talks  about  himself." 

Sue  looked  at  her  aunt  as  if  she  thought  her  a 
woman  of  wonderful  parts. 

"He  better  look  out  for  the  Sundayman," 
Sinth  continued. 

"Who's  the  Sundayman?"  they  both  asked. 

"He's  a  wonderful  hunter  an'  he  ketches  all 
the  wicked  folks,"  Sinth  answered.  "An'  them 
that  swears  he  makes  'em  into  mehoppers,  an' 
them  that  does  cruel  things  he  turns  their  hearts 
into  stones,  an'  them  that  steals  he  takes  away 
everything  they  have,  an'  if  anybody  lies  he 
makes  a  fool  of  'em  so  they  b'lieve  their  own 
stories,  an'  he  takes  an'  marks  the  face  of  every 
one  he  ketches  so  if  ye  look  sharp  ye  can  always 
tell  'em." 

In  a  moment  they  heard  some  one  coming 
down  the  trail.  It  was  young  Mr.  Migley  who 
suddenly  had  found  himself  in  the  midst  of  a 
small  rebellion.  Half  his  men  had  threatened  to 
"histe  the  turkey"  unless  he  brought  back  the 
"  woman  and  the  kids."  It  was  not  their  threat 
of  quitting  that  worried  him,  however — it  was  a 
consequence  more  remote  and  decisive. 

"Miss  Strong,  I  was  hot  under  the  collar,"  he 
began.  "  I  didn't  mean  to  put  you  out.  I  want 

283 


Silas   Strong 

you  to  come  back  and  stay  as  long  as  you  like. 
We  can  spare  you  one  of  the  cabins." 

"No,  sir,"  Sinth  answered,  curtly. 

"All  right,"  said  he,  "you're  the  doctor." 

In  a  moment  she  asked,  "  What  you  goin'  t'  do 
with  them  sick  folks  that's  camped  over  at 
Robin?" 

"I  won't  hurry  'em,"  said  he;  "but  they'll 
have  t'  git  out  before  long." 

"  It's  a  shame,"  Sinth  answered.  "  You  oughto 
hev  consumption  an'  see  how  you'd  like  it." 

"There  are  plenty  of  hotels  east  of  here." 

"  But  they're  poor  folks  an'  can't  afford  to  pay 
board,  even  if  they'd  let  'em  in,  which  they 
wouldn't." 

"I  can't  help  it — we've  got  to  get  these  logs 
down  to  the  river  before  snow  flies — it's  busi 
ness." 

With  him  that  brief  assertion  was  the  end  of 
many  disputes.  They  were  few  that  even  dared 
question  the  authority  of  the  old  tyrant  whom 
Silas  had  called  Business. 

The  young  man  began  to  walk  away.  Sinth 
sent  a  parting  shot  after  him. 

"It's  business,"  said  she,  "to  think  o'  nobody 
but  yerself." 

It  was  long  past  mid -day  when  Silas  came 
284 


THE 

ERS1TY 


with  the  ox.  He  stood  listening,  his  hands  upon 
his  hips,  while  Sinth  related  the  story  of  their 
leaving  camp  and  of  Migley's  effort  to  bring 
them  back. 

"S-Sawed  himself  off,"  said  Strong,  with  a 
smile.  "You  s-see."  The  dethroned  Emperor 
turned,  suddenly,  and  drew  a  line  across  the  trail 
with  the  butt  of  his  ox-  whip. 

"  All  t-toe  the  s-scratch,  '  '  he  demanded,  soberly. 

He  led  Sinth  and  Sue  forward  and  stopped 
them  with  their  toes  on  the  line.  He  motioned 
to  Socky,  who  took  his  place  by  the  others. 
Zeb  sat  in  front  of  them.  The  boy  seemed  to 
wonder  what  was  coming.  His  ringers  were 
closed  but  his  thumbs  stood  up  straight  accord 
ing  to  their  habit  when  the  boy's  heart  was 
troubled. 

"Th-thumbs  down,"  Strong  commanded. 

He  surveyed  his  forces  with  an  odd  look  of 
solemnity  and  playfulness. 

"S.  Strong  has  been  app'inted  W-warden  o' 
Rainbow  V-  valley,"  said  the  exiled  Emperor. 
"  F-forward  march."  His  command  was  follow 
ed  by  a  brief  appeal  to  the  ox. 

"Purty  good  luck!"  Sinth  exclaimed,  with  a 
look  of  satisfaction.  "  But  they's  a  lot  o'  pirates 
over  there  —  got  t'  look  out  fer  'em." 

285 


Silas  Strong 

"  They'll  m-move,"  said  Strong,  as  if  he  had  no 
worry  about  that. 

Slowly  they  went  up  the  trail  and  soon  re- 
entered  Lost  River  camp.  The  young  lumber 
man  saw  them  coming  and  went  off  into  the 
woods. 

Some  men,  who  had  been  at  work  near,  gath 
ered  about  the  Emperor  and  offered  to  stand  by 
him  as  long  as  he  wished  to  remain.  Strong 
shook  his  head.  "W-we  got  t'  g-go,"  he  stam 
mered.  He  looked  sadly  at  the  fallen  tree- 
trunks — at  the  door-yard,  now  full  of  brush. 
"  D-don't  never  w-want  t'  s-see  this  place  ag'in," 
he  muttered. 

He  brought  the  boat-jumper  into  camp  and 
loaded  it.  Then  with  Sinth  on  the  bow  seat  and 
Socky  and  Sue  behind  her  they  set  out,  the  men 
cheering  as  they  moved  away. 

A  clear  space  at  the  stern  afforded  room  for  the 
Emperor  if  he  should  wish  to  get  aboard  in  cross 
ing  water  and  an  axe  and  paddle  were  stored  on 
either  side  of  it. 

Strong  had  tacked  a  notice  on  one  of  the  trees, 
and  it  read  as  follows: 


S  STRONG 
has  moved  to  rainbow  lake 

286 


Silas    Strong 

The  camp  was  now  in  the  shadow  of  Long 
Ridge.  Sinth  and  the  Emperor  were  silent. 
Bird-songs  that  rang  in  the  deep,  shaded  hall  of 
the  woods  had  a  note  of  farewell  in  them.  The 
children  were  laughing  and  chattering  as  ox  and 
boat  -  jumper  entered  the  unbroken  forest.  Zeb 
stood  in  front  of  the  children,  his  forefeet  on 
the  gunwale,  and  seemed  to  complain  of  their 
progress. 

It  was,  in  a  way,  historic,  that  journey  of  the 
boat-jumper,  that  parting  of  the  ancient  wood 
and  the  last  of  its  children.  Their  expedition 
carried  about  all  that  was  left  of  the  spirit  of  the 
pioneer — his  ingenuity,  his  dauntless  courage, 
his  undying  hope  of  "  better  times."  The  hollow 
log,  with  its  heart  hewn  out  of  it,  groaning  on 
its  way  to  the  sown  land,  suggested  the  fate  of 
the  forest.  Now,  soon,  the  Lost  River  coun 
try  would  have  roads  instead  of  trails,  and 
its  emperor  would  be  a  common  millionaire. 
The  jumper  and  the  woodsman  had  had  their 
day. 

Slowly  they  pursued  their  way,  skirting  thick 
ets  and  going  around  fallen  trees,  and  stop 
ping  often  to  clear  a  passage.  Strong  followed, 
gripping  the  handles  that  rose  well  above  the 
stern  of  his  odd  craft,  and  so  he  served  as  a 

287 


Silas   Strong 

rudder  and  support.  An  ox  is  able  to  go  in  soft 
footing,  and  they  struck  boldly  across  a  broad 
swamp  nearly  three  miles  down  the  river 
shore. 

It  was  near  sundown  when  they  camped  for 
the  night  far  down  the  outlet  of  Catamount 
Pond.  Strong  put  up  a  small  tent  and  bottomed 
it  with  boughs  while  Sinth  was  getting  supper 
ready.  Their  work  done,  they  sat  before  the 
camp-fire  and  Sinth  told  tales  of  the  wilderness. 
Sile  sang  again  "  The  Story  of  the  Mellered  Bear," 
and  also  an  odd  bit  of  nonsense  which  was,  in 
part,  a  relic  of  old  times.  The  first  line  of  each 
stanza  came  out  slowly  and  solemnly  while  the 
second  ran  as  fast  as  he  could  move  his  tongue. 
In  his  old  memorandum-book  he  referred  to  it  as 
"  The  Snaik  Song,"  and  it  ran  as  follows : 


THE   SNAKE   SONG 


HH?^       h      f^- 

t 

H  —  i 

•!     c* 

~f  N  1 

—  ^r~ 

-A  — 

—  <•  —  "i  

Ep=4-J  —  J  —  A    A, 

^     J—  J 

J  — 

g 

fc^  S- 

In    a  sartin  vil     -     lage  there  did 

dwell 

..    t 

Jr  t» 

—  s  — 

J 

mv        t      &      ^ 

—  K  N;  N— 

—  h  — 

•t*  —  H 

ver  -  y    fine     gal      an'     I   knew    her    well,    Ry  - 
288 


Silas    Strong 


ft 


ft  ft 


— 

«       -^- 


tid  -  dy  -  id  -  dy  -  ay,     Ry  -  tid  -  dy  -  id  -  dy  -  ay,     Ry  - 


tid  -  dy  -  id  -  dy    id  -  dy  -  id  -  dy    odd  -  i  -    ay. 


"In  a  sartin  village  there  did  dwell 
A  very  fine  gal  an'  I  knew  her  well, 

Chorus 

Ry-tiddy-iddy-ay,  ry-tiddy-iddy-ay, 
Ry-tiddy-iddy-iddy-iddy-odd-i-ay. 

And  one  fine  morning  she  did  go 
Down  in  the  meadow  for  to  mow. 

Chorus 

And  the  very  first  thing  that  she  did  feel 
Was  a  big  black  snake  a-bitin'  of  her  heel. 

Chorus 

An'  her  heel  wasn't  bigger  than  a  robin's  egg 
An'  the  first  she  knew  he  swallered  up  her  leg. 

Chorus 

An'  when  he  was  try  in'  fer  to  carry  her  off 
She  wiggled  her  toes  'til  she  made  him  cough. 

Chorus  4 

An*  that  did  end  the  serpent's  fun, 

For  he  coughed  her  up  an'  away  she  run. 

Chorus" 
289 


Silas  Strong 

Strong  whittled  as  he  sang,  and  soon  presented 
the  girl  with  a  straight  rod  of  yellow  osier  upon 
which  he  had  carved  the  brief  legend,  "  Su — her 
snaik -stick."  If  she  held  to  that,  he  explained, 
no  snake  would  be  able  to  swallow  her. 

"I  want  one,  too,"  said  Socky. 

"  You  m-mean  a  bear  stick,"  Strong  answered. 
"  Girls  have  t'  1-look  out  fer  s-snakes  an'  boys  for 
b-bears." 

They  were  all  asleep  on  their  bough  beds  be 
fore  eight  o'clock. 

At  that  hour  which  Strong  was  wont  to  desig 
nate  as  "  jes'  daylight"  he  was  on  his  feet  again. 
Whether  early  or  late  to  bed  he  was  always 
awake  before  dawn.  Some  invisible  watcher 
seemed  to  warn  him  of  the  coming  of  the  light. 
He  held  to  one  ot  the  ancient  habits  of  the  race, 
for  he  began  every  day  by  kneeling  to  start  a 
fire.  He  bent  his  head  low  and  brought  his  lips 
near  it  as  if  the  flame  were  a  sacred  thing  and 
he  its  worshipper. 

For  a  time  that  morning  he  was  careful  not 
to  disturb  the  others.  But  having  attended  to 
Patrick,  he  hurried  to  call  the  children.  He 
hurried  for  fear  that  Sinth  would  forestall  him. 
He  loved  to  wake  and  wait  upon  them  and  hear 
their  chatter.  Their  confidence  in  his  power 

290 


Silas   Strong 

over  all  perils  had  become  a  sweet  and  sacred 
sort  of  flattery  in  the  view  of  Silas.  He  had,  too, 
a  curious  delight  in  seeing  and  feeling  their  little 
bodies  while  he  helped  them  to  dress.  Somehow 
it  had  all  made  him  think  less  of  the  pleasures  of 
the  wild  country  and  more  of  Lady  Ann.  That 
"someday"  of  his  laconic  pledge  was  drawing 
nearer  and  its  light  was  in  every  hour  of  his  life. 
The  children  were  leading  him  out  of  the  brother 
hood  of  the  forest  into  that  of  men. 

He  lifted  the  sleeping  boy  in  his  arms  and 
gently  woke  him.  Zeb  had  followed  and  put  his 
cold  nose  on  the  ear  of  Sue.  Soon  the  children 
were  up  and  the  Emperor  kneeling  before  them, 
while  his  great  hands  awkwardly  held  a  "  teenty  " 
pair  of  stockings. 

Sinth  awoke  and  jealousy  remarked,  "Huh! 
I  should  think  you  was  plumb  crazy  'bout  them 
air  childern." 

Strong  smiled  and  left  them  to  her  and  began 
to  prepare  breakfast. 

Soon  all  were  on  their  way  again,  heading  for 
the  lower  valley  of  Lost  River.  They  crossed 
two  ridges  and  entered  a  wide  swamp.  There 
were  many  delays,  for  they  encountered  fallen 
trees  which  had  to  be  cleared  away  with  axe  and 
lever,  while  here  and  there  Strong  gave  the  ox 

291 


Silas    Strong 

a  footing  of  corduroy.  It  was  a  warm  day  and 
the  children  fell  asleep  after  an  hour  or  so.  Sinth, 
who  had  been  tossed  about  until  speech  wearied 
her  tongue  and  put  it  in  some  peril,  sank  into 
sighful  resignation. 

The  jumper  had  stopped;  Strong  had  gone 
ahead  to  look  out  his  way.  Reaching  higher 
ground  he  saw  man  tracks  and  followed  them  to 
an  old  trail.  Soon  a  piece  of  white  paper  pinned 
to  a  tree-trunk  caught  his  eye.  He  stopped  and 
read  this  warning: 

"To  SILE  STRONG 

"  You  haint  goin  t'  find  the  Rainbow  country  helthy 
place.  If  you  go  thare  youll  git  hung  up  by  the  heels. 
I  mean  business." 

The  Emperor  took  off  his  faded  crown.  He 
scratched  his  head  thoughtfully.  That  message 
was  probably  inspired  by  some  lawless  man  who 
had  felt  the  authority  of  the  woods  lover  and  who 
wanted  no  more  of  it.  He  had  heard  that  Migley 
had  four  camps  on  the  Middle  Branch,  between 
there  and  Rainbow,  and  that  they  were  full  of 
"cutthroats."  That  was  a  word  that  stood  for 
deer-slayers  and  all  dare-devil  men. 

Whoever  had  put  this  threat  in  the  way  of  the 
Emperor  had  probably  heard  of  his  appoint- 

292 


Silas    Strong 

ment  and  was  trying  to  scare  him  away.     The 
offender  might  have  been  sent  by  Migley  himself. 

"  W- We'll  s-see,"  Strong  muttered,  with  a  stern 
look,  as  he  returned  to  the  boat-jumper.  Many 
had  threatened  him,  one  time  or  another,  but  he 
never  worried  over  that  kind  of  thing.  To-day, 
as  on  many  occasions,  he  kept  his  tongue  sinless 
by  keeping  his  mouth  shut,  and,  touching  his 
discovery  on  the  trail,  said  only  the  two  words, 
"W-we'll  see,"  and  said  them  to  himself.  He 
didn't  believe  in  spreading  trouble. 

Slowly  they  made  their  way  to  a  bend  in  Lost 
River  far  from  the  old  camp.  As  they  halted 
to  seek  entrance  to  the  water  channel  Strong 
came  forward  and  poked  the  children  playfully 
until  they  opened  their  eyes.  Then  he  put  a 
hand  on  either  shoulder  of  Sinth  and  gave  her  a 
little  shake. 

"How  ye  f-feelin'?"  he  asked. 

"Redic'lous,"  she  answered,  "settin'  here  'n  a 
holler  tree  jest  as  if  we  was  a  fam'ly  o'  raccoons." 
It  was  the  most  impatient  remark  she  had  made 
in  many  days. 

"B-Better  times!"  said  the  Emperor.  He 
smiled  and  sat  down  to  rest  on  the  side  of  the 
boat-jumper.  He  turned  to  the  boy  and  asked, 
hopefully,  "How  'bout  yer  Uncle  S-Silas?" 

293 


Silas    Strong 

It  had  been  rough,  adventurous  riding,  but 
full  of  delight  for  the  children.  That  morning 
their  uncle  had  loomed  into  heroic  and  satis 
factory  proportions.  Socky  had  long  been  think 
ing  of  the  little  silver  compass  Master  had  given 
him  one  day  and  which  hung  on  a  ribbon  tied 
about  his  neck.  He  hoped  they  might  be  going 
where  there  would  be  other  boys  and  girls.  He 
had  been  considering  how  to  give  to  his  uncle's 
person  a  touch  of  grandeur  and  impressiveness 
fitting  the  story  of  the  "mellered  bear"  and  his 
power  and  skill  as  a  hunter.  Soberly  he  re 
moved  the  ribbon  from  his  neck  and  presented 
the  shiny  trinket  to  his  uncle. 

"  Put  that  on  yer  neck,"  said  he,  proudly. 

"Wh-what?"  his  uncle  stammered. 

"C'ris'mus  present,"  said  the  boy,  with  a  seri 
ous  look. 

The  Emperor  took  off  his  faded  crown.  He 
put  the  ribbon  over  his  head  so  that  the  com 
pass  dangled  on  his  breast. 

"There,"  said  Socky,  "that  looks  a  little 
better." 

In  a  moment,  with  that  prudence  which  al 
ways  kept  the  last  bridge  between  himself  and 
happiness,  he  added,  "You  can  let  me  have  it 
nights." 

294 


Silas  Strong 

Every  night  since  it  fell  to  his  possession  he 
had  gone  forth  into  the  land  of  dreams  with 
that  compass  held  firmly  in  his  right  hand. 

"Here's  twenty-five  cents,"  said  Sue,  holding 
out  the  sacred  coin  which  her  nurse  had  given 
her,  and  which,  on  her  way  into  the  forest,  had 
been  set  aside  for  a  sacrifice  to  the  great  man 
of  her  dreams.  At  last  the  two  had  accepted 
him,  without  reserve,  as  worthy  of  all  honor. 
They  could  still  wish  for  more  in  the  way  of 
personal  grandeur,  supplied  in  part  by  the 
glittering  compass,  but  something  in  him  had 
satisfied  their  hearts  if  not  their  eyes.  He  was 
again  their  sublime,  their  wonderful  Emperor. 

"You  better  keep  it;  you're  going  to  buy  an 
album  for  Aunt  Sinthy,"  the  boy  warned  her. 

Her  little  hand  closed  half-way  on  the  silver; 
it  wavered  and  fell  in  her  lap.  She  seemed  to 
weigh  the  coin  between  her  thumb  and  finger. 
She  looked  from  the  man  to  the  woman.  Socky 
saw  her  dilemma  and  felt  for  her. 

"I'll  get  her  an  album  myself,"  he  proposed. 
In  that  world  of  magic  where  he  lived  nothing 
could  discourage  his  faith  and  generosity.  Their 
uncle  lifted  them  in  his  arms  and  held  them 
against  his  breast  without  speaking. 

"You've  squeezed  them  childern  till  they're 
295 


Silas   Strong 

black  in  the  face/'  said  Sinth,  who  now  stood 
near  him.  with  a  look  of  impatience. 

She  took  them  out  of  his  arms  and  held  them 
closer,  if  possible,  than  he  had  done. 

At  the  edge  of  the  stream  he  shouted,  "All 
'board!"  The  others  took  their  seats,  and  the 
Emperor  sat  in  the  stern  with  his  paddle.  Socky 
faced  him  so  that  he  could  see  the  compass. 
He  often  asked,  proudly,  "  Which  way  we  goin'  ?" 
and  Strong  would  look  at  the  compass  and 
promptly  return  the  information,  "  Sou'  by  east." 

The  river  ran  shallow  for  more  than  a  mile  in 
the  direction  of  their  travel.  Patrick  hauled 
them  slowly  down  the  edge  of  the  current. 
Strong  steadied  and  steered  with  his  paddle  as 
they  crept  along,  bumping  over  stones  and 
grinding  over  gravel  until,  at  a  sloping,  sandy 
beach  on  the  farther  shore,  they  mounted  the 
bank  and  headed  across  Huckleberry  Plain. 

Noon-time  had  passed  when  they  left  the  hot 
plain.  They  threaded  a  narrow  fringe  of  tama 
racks  and  entered  thick  woods  again.  At  a 
noisy  little  stream  near  by  they  stopped  for  din 
ner.  Strong  caught  some  trout  and  built  a  fire 
and  fried  them,  and  made  coffee.  Sinth  spread 
the  dishes  and  brought  sandwiches  and  cheese 
and  a  big,  frosted  cake  and  a  can  of  preserved 

296 


Silas   Strong 

berries  from  the  boat-jumper.  They  sat  down 
to  the  reward  of  honest  hunger  where  the  pure, 
cool  air  and  the  sylvan  scene  and  the  sound  of 
flowing  water  were  more  than  meat  to  them,  if 
that  were  possible. 

Having  eaten,  they  rose  and  pressed  on  with 
a  happy  sense  of  refreshment.  A  thought  of  it 
was  to  brighten  many  a  less  cheerful  hour.  Half 
a  mile  from  their  camping-place  they  found  a 
smooth  trail  which  led  across  level  country  to 
the  Middle  Branch.  Socky  and  Sue  were  again 
fast  asleep  on  the  bottom  of  the  boat-jumper  long 
before  they  reached  the  river.  When  they  halt 
ed  near  its  bank  a  broad  stream  of  deep,  slow 
water  lay  before  them.  Strong  unhitched  the 
ox  and  led  him  along  shore  until  he  came  to 
rapids  where,  half  a  mile  below,  the  river  took  its 
long,  rocky  slope  to  lower  country.  There  he 
tethered  his  ox  and  returned  to  fetch  the  others. 
He  launched  his  boat-jumper  and  got  aboard 
and  paddled  carefully  down-stream. 

Having  doubled  a  point,  they  came  in  sight 
of  a  slim  boy  who  stood  by  the  water's  edge  aim 
ing  an  ancient,  long-barrelled  gun.  His  head, 
which  rested  against  the  breech,  seemed,  as  the 
Emperor  reported,  "  'bout  the  size  of  a  pippin." 

"L-look  out!"   Strong  shouted,   as  the  boy 
20  297 


Silas    Strong 

lowered  his  gun  to  regard  the  travellers  with  an 
expression  of  deep  concern. 

"See  any  mushrats?"  the  boy  asked,  eagerly. 

"N-no;  who  're  you?" 

"Jo  Henyon." 

Strong  had  heard  of  old  Henyon,  who  was 
known  familiarly  as  "Mushrat  Bill."  For  years 
Bill  had  haunted  the  Middle  Branch. 

"Wh-where  d'  ye  live?" 

"Yender,"  said  the  boy,  pointing  down 
stream  as  he  ran  ahead  of  them. 

Presently  they  came  to  an  old  cabin  near  the 
water's  edge  with  a  small  clearing  around  it. 
A  woman  wrearing  a  short  skirt  and  Shaker 
bonnet  stood  on  one  leg  looking  dbwn  at  them. 
Children  were  rushing  out  of  the  cabin  door. 

"  My  land !  where 's  her  other  leg  ?"  Sinth  mused. 

The  Emperor  looked  thoughtfully  at  the 
strange  woman. 

"F-folks  are  like  cranes  over  in  this  c-coun- 
try,"  Strong  answered.  "Always  rest  on  one 

leg." 

He  drove  his  bow  on  a  sloping,  sandy  beach. 
The  woman  hopped  into  the  cabin  door.  Her 
many  children  hurried  to  the  landing.  A  man 
with  head  and  feet  bare  followed  them.  An  old 
undershirt,  one  suspender,  and  a  tattered  pair  of 

298 


Silas   Strong 

overalls  partly  covered  his  body.  He  walked 
slowly  towards  the  shore.  He  was  the  famous 
trapper  of  the  Middle  Branch. 

"F-fur  to  Rainbow  T-Trail?"  Strong  inquired 
of  him. 

The  latter  put  his  hand  to  his  ear  and  said, 
"What?"  Strong  repeated  his  query  in  a  much 
louder  voice. 

"  Fur  ain't  very  thick,"  the  stranger  answered. 

Strong  perceived  that  the  man  was  very  deaf 
and  also  that  he  was  devoted  to  one  idea. 

"  B-big  fam'ly,"  he  shouted,  as  he  began  to 
push  off. 

The  trapper,  with  his  hand  to  his  ear  and  still 
looking  a  bit  doubtful,  answered,  "  Ain't  runnin' 
very  big  this  year." 

Thereafter  the  word  "  mushrats,"  in  the  vocab 
ulary  of  Strong,  stood  for  unworthy  devotion  to 
a  single  purpose. 

Down-stream  a  little  the  ox  took  his  place 
again  at  the  bow  of  the  boat- jumper.  They 
struck  off  into  thick  woods  reaching  far  and 
wide  on  the  acres  of  Uncle  Sam.  A  mile  or  so 
inland  they  came  to  Rainbow  Trail,  and  there 
after  followed  it.  Timber  thieves  had  been 
cutting  big  pines  and  spruces  and  had  left  a 
slash  on  either  side  of  the  trail. 

299 


Silas  Strong 

The  travellers  dipped  down  across  the  edge 
of  a  wide  valley,  and  after  climbing  again  were  in 
the  midst  of  burned  ground  on  the  top  of  a  high 
ridge.  Below  them  they  could  see  Rainbow 
Lake  and  the  undulating  canopy  of  a  great, 
two-storied  forest  reaching  to  hazy  distances. 
Mighty  towers  of  spruce  and  pine  and  hemlock 
rose  into  the  sunlit,  upper  heavens. 

It  was  growing  dusk  when,  below  them  and 
well  off  the  trail,  they  saw  a  column  of  smoke 
rising.  They  halted,  and  Strong  stood  gazing. 
The  smoke  grew  in  volume  and  he  made  off  down 
the  side  of  the  ridge.  He  came  in  sight  of  the  fire 
and  stopped.  Some  one  had  fled  through  thick 
ets  of  young  spruce  and  Zeb  was  pursuing  him. 

Strong  looked  off  in  the  gloomy  forest  and 
shouted  a  fierce  oath  at  its  invisible  enemy. 

Near  him  flames  were  leaping  above  a  fallen 
top  and  running  in  tiny  jets  over  dry  duff  like 
the  waste  of  a  fountain.  Swiftly  Strong  cut 
branches  of  green  birch  and  began  to  lay  about 
him.  He  stopped  the  flames  and  then  dug  with 
his  hatchet  until  he  struck  sand.  He  scooped  it 
into  his  hat  and  soon  smothered  the  cinders. 

His  face  had  a  troubled  expression  as  he  re 
turned  to  the  boat-jumper. 

"Who  you  been  yellin'  at?"  Sinth  asked. 
300 


Silas    Strong 

"C-careless  cuss,"  he  answered,  evasively. 

Socky  wore  a  look  of  indignation.  He  glibly 
repeated  the  oath  which  he  had  heard  his  uncle 
use. 

"  Hush!  The  Sundayman  '11  ketch  you,"  Sinth 
answered,  severely. 

Strong  gave  a  whistle  of  surprise. 

"  Uncle  Silas  ain't  'fraid  o'  no  Sundayman," 
Socky  guessed. 

"  Y-yes  I  be — could  kill  me  with  a  s-snap  of 
his  finger,"  Strong  declared. 

Socky  trembled  as  he  thought  of  that  one  in 
habitant  of  the  earth  who  was  greater  than  his 
Uncle  Silas  and  said  no  more. 

"S-see  here,  boy,"  said  Strong,  as  he  put  his 
fingers  under  Socky 's  chin  and  raised  his  head 
a  little,  "  I  w-won't  never  swear  ag'in  if  y-you 
won't." 

He  held  out  his  great  hand  and  Socky  took  it. 

"Y-you  agree?" 

Socky  nodded  with  a  serious  look,  and  so  it 
happened  that  Silas  became  the  master  of  his  own 
tongue.  He  had  "boiled  over"  for  the  last  time 
— so  he  thought.  The  old  habit  which  had 
grown  out  of  a  thousand  trials  and  difficulties 
must  give  way,  and  henceforth  he  would  be 
emperor  of  his  own  spirit. 

301 


Silas   Strong 

As  to  the  fire  and  the  man  who  had  fled  before 
him,  Strong  was  perplexed,  but  kept  his  own 
counsel.  He  knew  that  the  law  permitted 
lumbermen  to  enter  burned  lands  on  the  State 
preserve  and  take  all  timber  which  fire  had  dam 
aged.  A  fire  which  might  only  have  scorched  the 
trunks  while  it  devoured  the  crowns  above  them 
gave  a  rich  harvest  to  some  lucky  lumberman. 
Having  gained  access,  he  stripped  the  earth, 
helping  himself  to  the  living  as  well  as  the  dead 
trees.  Fire,  therefore,  had  become  a  source  of 
profit  wherein  lay  the  temptation  to  kindle  it. 

Silas  Strong  knew  that  his  land  of  refuge  was 
doomed  —  that  the  forerunner  of  its  desolation 
was  even  then  hiding  somewhere  in  the  near, 
dusky  woods.  He  thought  of  the  peril  after  a 
dry  summer.  The  mould  of  the  forest  would 
burn  like  tinder. 

The  dethroned  Emperor  reached  the  shore  of 
Rainbow,  put  up  a  tent,  and  helped  to  get  supper 
ready.  After  supper  he  lay  down  to  rest  in  the 
firelight,  and  told  the  children  about  the  great 
bear  and  the  panther-bird.  Sinth,  weary  after 
that  long  day  of  travel,  had  gone  to  sleep.  After 
an  hour  or  so  Strong  rose  and  looked  down  at  her. 

"  Sh-sh! — don't  w-wake  her,"  he  warned  them. 
"  I'll  put  ye  t'  b-bed." 

302 


Silas    Strong 

He  helped  them  undress. 

"You'll  have  to  hear  our  prayers,"  Socky 
whispered. 

Strong  nodded.  He  sat  on  a  box  and  they 
knelt  between  his  knees  and  he  put  his  hands  on 
their  heads  and  bowed  his  own. 

When  they  had  finished  he  bent  lower  and 
dictated  this  brief  kind  of  postscript,  "An'  keep 
us  from  all  d-danger  this  n-night." 

They  repeated  the  words  with  no  suspicion  of 
what  lay  behind  them. 

Then  Socky  whispered,  "  Say  something  'bout 
the  Sunday  man." 

"An'  keep  the  Sundayman  away,"  Strong 
added. 

They  repeated  the  words,  and  then,  as  if  his 
heart  were  still  unsatisfied,  Socky  added  these, 
"An'  please  take  care  o'  my  Uncle  Silas." 

The  Emperor  lay  thinking  long  after  his  weary 
companions  had  gone  to  sleep.  He  thought  of 
that  angry  outcry  and  his  heart  smote  him;  he 
thought  of  the  danger.  Perhaps,  after  all,  they 
would  not  dare  to  burn  the  woods  now.  But 
Strong  resolved  to  keep  awake  and  be  ready  for 
trouble  if  it  came.  By -and -by  he  lighted  a 
lantern  and  wrote  in  his  old  memorandum-book 
as  follows: 

303 


Silas   Strong 

"  Strong  use  to  say  prufanity  does  more  harm  when 
ye  keep  it  in  than  when  ye  let  it  natcherly  drene  off 
but  among  childern  it's  as  ketchin'  as  the  measles. 
Sounds  like  thunder  when  it  comes  out  of  a  boy's  mouth 
an  hits  like  chain  lightnin." 

Long  before  midnight  rain  began  to  fall. 
Strong  rose  and  went  out  under  the  trees  and 
lifted  his  face  and  hands,  in  a  picturesque  and 
priestlike  attitude,  to  feel  the  grateful  drops  and 
whispered,  " Thank  God!"  It  was  a  gentle 
shower  but  an  hour  of  it  would  be  enough.  He 
went  back  to  his  bed  and  lay  listening.  The 
faded  leaves  that  still  clung  in  the  maple-tops 
above  them  rattled  like  a  thousand  tambou 
rines.  After  an  hour  of  the  grateful  downpour 
Strong's  fear  abated  and  he  "let  go"  and  sank 
into  deep  slumber. 

Almost  the  last  furrow  in  the  old  sod  of  his 
character  had  been  turned. 


XXXI 


HE  sun  rose  clear  next  morning. 
Although  a  long  shower  of  rain 
had  come  one  could  see  no  sign  of 
it  save  in  the  drifted  leaves.  The 
earth  had  drunk  it  down  quickly 
and  seemed  to  be  drying  with  its  own  heat. 
Strong  felt  the  soil  and  the  leaves.  He  blew 
and  shook  his  head  with  surprise. 

While  the  others  lay  sleeping  in  their  tent, 
he  made  a  fire  and  set  out  in  quest  of  a  spring. 
Half  a  mile  or  so  up  the  lake  shore  a  bear  broke 
out  of  a  thicket  of  young  firs  just  ahead  of  him. 
Strong  was  caught  again  without  his  rifle. 
Satan  came  as  swiftly  as  the  bear  had  fled,  but 
could  not  prevail  against  him.  Strong  was  de 
lighted  with  this  chance  of  showing  the  strength 
of  his  new  purpose.  In  among  the  fir-trees  he 
found  the  carcass  of  a  buck  upon  which  the 
bear  had  been  feeding. 

"P-paunchers!"  Strong  muttered. 
He  climbed  the  side  of  the  ridge  and  presently 
305 


Silas   Strong 

struck  the  trail  leading  into  camp.  Soon  he 
could  hear  some  one  coming,  and  sat  on  a  log 
and  waited.  It  was  Master,  who  had  gone  to 
Lost  River  camp  and  then  followed  the  trail  of 
the  boat-jumper. 

"Slept  last  night  in  a  lean-to  over  on  the 
Middle  Branch,"  said  he.  "Been  travelling 
since  an  hour  before  daylight  and  I'm  hungry." 

"N-news  from  the  gal?" 

"No.     Have  you?" 

Strong  shook  his  head  solemnly.  "They've 
t-took  the  hills,  an'  I've  come  over  here  t'  work 
fer  Uncle  S-sam,"  said  he. 

"Warden?" 

"Uh-huh — been  app'inted,"  Strong  answered, 
with  a  look  of  sadness  and  satisfaction. 

"They're  very  cunning — Wilbert  and  the  rest 
of  them,"  Master  said.  "They've  put  a  little 
salve  on  you  and  sent  you  out  of  the  way. 
You're  too  serious  -  minded  for  them.  That 
dynamite  trick  of  yours  set  'em  all  thinking. 
They  won't  keep  you  here  long — you're  too 
dead  in  earnest.  But  there's  room  enough  for 
you  over  in  the  Clear  Lake  country,  and  when 
they  get  ready  to  shove  you  out  come  and  be 
at  home  with  us." 

A  moment  of  silence  followed.  The  simple 
306 


Silas   Strong 

mind  of  the  woodsman  was  looking  deep  into 
the  darkness  that  surrounded  the  throne  of  the 
great  king. 

"You're  camp  looks  as  if  it  had  been  struck 
by  lightning,"  Master  added. 

Strong  showed  the  letter  containing  his  ap 
pointment,  and  told  of  the  threat  to  hang  him 
up  by  the  heels. 

"The  commissioner  is  on  the  square  —  he 
means  well,"  said  Master,  "but  they're  using 
him.  These  lumbermen  intend  to  drive  you 
out  of  the  woods,  and  they've  got  you  headed 
for  the  clearing.  You  won't  stay  here  long.  In 
my  opinion  they'll  burn  this  valley." 

Strong  looked  into  the  face  of  the  young 
man. 

"What  makes  ye  think  so?"  he  asked. 

"  Because  they  want  the  timber,  and  because 
they've  got  you  here,"  said  Master.  "I  heard 
of  your  appointment.  I  heard,  too,  that  Joe 
Socket  and  Pop  Migley  and  Dennis  Mulligan 
thought  you  were  the  right  man  for  the  place. 
I  knew  there'd  be  something  doing,  and  I  came  in 
here  to  warn  you.  Don't  ever  trust  the  benev 
olence  of  Satan." 

"By — "  Strong  paused  and  gave  his  thigh 
a  slap.  "I  know  w-what  they're  up  to,"  he 

307 


Silas   Strong 

muttered,  thoughtfully.     "They'll  make  it  too 
hot  f-fer  m-me  here." 

He  told  of  the  fire  and  the  man  who  fled  in 
the  bushes. 

"They're  going  to  fire  the  valley,  and  don't 
intend  to  give  you  time  to  sit  down,"  said  Mas 
ter.  "It's  a  dangerous  country  just  now." 

"Have  t'  take  Sinth  an'  the  ch-childern  out 
o'  here  r-right  off,"  the  hunter  answered.  "If 
you'll  stay  with  'em  t'-day,  I'll  go  an'  g-git  some 
duffle  an'  we'll  p-put  over  the  r-ridge  with  'em 
t '-night." 

Back  at  the  old  camp  there  were  things  he 
needed  sorely,  and  he  reckoned  that  he  could 
make  the  round  trip  with  a  pack -basket  by  five 
in  the  afternoon. 

"  It's  still  and  the  leaves  are  d-damp,"  Strong 
mused.  "Fire  wouldn't  run  much  t'-day." 

"  To-morrow  I'll  get  a  force  of  men  and  we'll 
surround  this  valley,"  said  Master. 

They  hurried  into  camp  and  were  greeted 
with  merry  cries.  Soon  they  were  sitting  on  a 
blanket  beside  the  others,  eating  in  the  ancient 
fashion  of  the  pioneer. 

The  young  man  had  brought  a  letter  from 
Gordon  which  contained  a  sum  of  money  and 
welcome  news.  Sinth  read  the  letter  aloud. 

308 


Silas   Strong 

"  'My  dear  friends/  "  she  read,  " ' I  had  hoped 
to  write  you  long  ago,  but  I  have  been  waiting  for 
better  news  to  tell.  My  struggle  is  over  and  I 
am  now  master  of  myself.  I  paid  to  my  credi 
tors  all  the  money  you  gave  me.' ' 

"Did  you  give  him  money?"  Sinth  looked  up 
to  inquire. 

"Uh-huh,"  Strong  answered. 

"How  much?" 

"All  I  had." 

"You're  a  fool!"  Sinth  exclaimed,  and  went 
on  reading  as  follows : 

" '  Socky  had  given  me  his  little  tin  bank.  It 
contained  just  a  dollar  and  thirty -two  cents. 
The  sacred  sum  paid  my  fare  to  Benson  Falls 
and  bought  my  dinner.  I  got  a  job  there  in 
the  mill  and  soon  I  expect  to  be  its  manager. 
I'm  a  new  man.  If  you  want  a  job  I  can  place 
you  here  at  good  pay.  In  a  week  or  two  I 
shall—'" 

Sinth  stopped  reading  and  covered  her  face 
with  her  apron. 

"What  does  it  s-say?"  Silas  inquired,  so 
berly. 

She  handed  the  letter  to  him,  and  he  read 
the  last  words :  " '  I  shall  come  after  the  children 
and  will  then  pay  you  in  full  with  interest.  No, 

309 


Silas   Strong 

% 

I  can  never  pay  you  in  full,  for  there's  some 
thing  better  than  money  that  I  owe  you.'" 

Strong's  face  changed  color.  He  dropped  the 
letter  and  rose. 

"W-well,"  he  stammered. 

"He  sha'n't  have  'em,"  said  Sinth,  decisively. 

"Tut,  tut!"  Silas  answered. 

He  raised  the  boy  in  his  arms  and  kissed  him. 
"W-we're  both  f -fools,"  he  said,  huskily. 

"You  ain't  exac'ly  fools,  but  yer  both  chil- 
dern,"  said  Sinth,  wiping  her  eyes. 

"  Well,  you  know  the  Bible  says  we  must  be 
come  as  a  little  child, "said  Master.  "After  all, 
money  is  only  a  measure  of  value,  and  one  thing 
it  does  with  absolute  precision — a  man's  money 
measures  the  depth  of  his  heart." 


XXXII 


TRONG  left  camp  with  his  pack 
and  rifle  and  two  bear-traps.  He 
was  nearing  the  dead  buck  when 
a  shot  stopped  him,  and  a  bullet 
cut  through  his  left  fore-arm.  The 
deadly  missile  came  no  swifter  than  his  under 
standing  of  it. 

He  dropped  as  if  a  death-blow  had  struck  him, 
and,  clinging  to  his  rifle,  crept  in  among  the  firs. 
He  flung  off  the  straps  of  his  basket.  He  lay 
still  a  moment  and  then  cautiously  got  to  his 
knees.  Blood  was  trickling  down  his  hand,  but 
he  gave  no  heed  to  it.  The  ball  had  come  from 
higher  ground,  towards  which  he  had  been  walk 
ing.  The  man  who  had  tried  to  kill  him  could 
not  have  stood  more  than  two  hundred  feet 
away.  Strong  sat,  rifle  in  hand,  peering  through 
the  fir  branches — alert  as  a  panther  waiting  for 
its  prey.  Soon  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  his 
enemy  fleeing  between  distant  tree  columns. 
The  sight  seemed  to  fill  him  with  deadly  anger. 


Silas   Strong 

He  leaped  to  his  feet,  seized  his  pack -basket, 
and  started  swiftly  in  pursuit  of  him.  He 
gained  the  summit  of  the  high  ground  and  saw 
a  broad  slash  covered  with  berry  bushes  and 
sloping  to  the  flats  around  Bushrod  Creek.  A 
trail  cut  through  it  from  the  edge  of  the  woods 
near  him. 

He  stopped  and  listened.  He  could  hear  the 
sound  of  retreating  footsteps  and  could  see 
briers  moving  some  thirty  rods  down  the  slash. 
His  heart  had  shaken  off  its  rage.  He  was  now 
the  cunning,  stealthy,  determined  hunter.  He 
saw  a  dry,  stag-headed  pine  in  the  edge  of  the 
briers  near  him  and  hurried  up  its  shaft  like  a 
bear  pressed  by  the  dogs.  On  a  dead  limb, 
some  thirty  feet  above  ground,  he  halted  and 
looked  away.  He  could  see  nothing  of  his  un 
known  foe. 

Slowly  Strong  descended  from  the  dead  tree. 
He  had  just  begun  to  feel  the  pain  of  his  wound. 
Blood  was  dripping  fast  from  it;  he  looked  like 
a  butcher  in  the  midst  of  his  task.  He  muttered 
as  he  began  to  roll  his  sleeve,  "  G-guess  they  do 
inten'  t'  shove  me  out  o'  this  c -country." 

He  blew  as  he  looked  at  the  wound. 

"B-Business  is  p-prosperin',"  he  went  on,  as 
he  held  one  end  of  a  big  red  handkerchief  be- 

312 


Silas   Strong 

tween  his  teeth  and  wound  it  above  the  torn 
muscles  and  firmly  knotted  the  ends. 

"W-war!"  he  muttered,  as  he  went  to  the 
near  bushes  and  began  to  gather  spiders' 
webs. 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that  for  a  moment  he 
forgot  his  promise  to  Socky  and  "boiled  over" 
from  the  heat  of  his  passion. 

He  sat  on  the  ground  and  with  his  knife  scraped 
away  the  blood  clots. 

"D-damn  soft-nose  bullet!"  he  muttered,  with 
a  serious  look,  smoothing  down  the  fibres  of 
torn  flesh. 

He  spread  the  webs  upon  his  wound,  and  held 
them  close  awhile  under  his  great  palm.  Soon 
he  moistened  a  lot  of  tobacco  and  put  it  on  the 
webs  and  held  it  there.  After  an  hour  or  so 
the  blood  stopped.  Then,  gradually,  he  relieved 
the  tension  of  his  handkerchief,  and  by-and-by 
used  it  for  a  bandage  on  his  wound. 

He  rose  and  shouldered  his  pack  and  began 
to  search  for  the  tracks  of  his  enemy.  He  soon 
discovered  those  of  the  bear  which  had  fled  be 
fore  him  that  morning. 

"S-see  here,  Strong,"  he  muttered,  "th-this 
won't  scurcely  do.  I  arrest  you,  S.  Strong, 
Esquire.  Y-you're  my  prisoner.  T-tryin'  t' 

313 


Silas  Strong 

kill  a  man — you  b-bloodthirsty  devil!  C-come 
with  me.  We'll  hunt  fer  b-bears." 

The  Emperor  had  often  addressed  himself 
with  severe  and  even  copious  condemnation, 
but  this  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  ever 
taken  S.  Strong  by  the  coat-collar  and  violently 
faced  him  about. 

He  could  see  clearly  where  the  bear  had 
broken  through  the  wet  briers  on  his  way  down 
to  the  flat  country.  It  was  a  moment  of  peril, 
and  he  gave  himself  no  time  for  argument.  He 
hurried  away  in  the  trail  of  the  bear.  It  lay 
before  him,  unmistakable  as  the  wake  of  a  boat, 
and  would  show  where  the  animal  was  wont  to 
cross  the  water  below.  He  came  soon  to  a 
great  log  lying  from  shore  to  shore  of  that  inlet 
of  Rainbow  which  was  called  Bushrod  Creek. 
He  could  see  tracks  near  the  end  of  the  log,  and 
there,  with  a  spruce  pole  for  a  lever,  he  set  his 
traps  in  the  sand  so  that,  if  the  first  were  not 
sprung,  the  second  would  be  sure  to  take  hold. 
He  covered  the  great,  yawning,  seven-toothed 
jaws  of  steel  and  fastened  heavy  clogs  upon 
both  trap  chains.  Then  he  took  the  piece  of 
bacon  from  his  pack  and  hung  it  on  a  branch 
above  the  traps. 

Shrewdly   the    hunter    had    made    his    plan. 


Silas   Strong 

That  bear  would  probably  return  to  the  dead 
buck,  and  the  scent  of  the  bacon  would  attract 
him  to  that  particular  crossing. 

He  tore  two  pages  from  his  memorandum- 
book,  and  wrote  this  warning  on  each: 


"  Stop    traps  ahed 

"S.  STRONG." 


He  fastened  them  to  stakes  and  posted  them 
on  two  sides  of  the  point  of  danger. 

It  was  then  past  eleven  and  too  late  for  the 
long  journey  to  Lost  River  camp.  He  decided 
to  go  to  Henyon's  on  the  Middle  Branch  and 
get  the  trapper  to  come  and  keep  watch  while 
he  took  Sinth  and  the  children  to  Benson  Falls. 

On  his  way  out  of  the  slash  he  killed  a  deer, 
and  dressed  and  hung  him  on  a  tree.  Then  he 
set  out  for  the  trail  to  Henyon's. 

He  had  walked  for  an  hour  or  so  when  his 
pace  began  to  slacken. 

"T-y-ty!"  he  whispered,  stopping  suddenly. 
"S.  Strong,  what's  the  m-matter?  Yer  all  of 
a-tremble." 

Strong  felt  sick  and  weary,  and  took  off  his 
pack  and  sat  down  to  rest  on  a  bed  of  leaves. 
Then  he  discovered  that  the  handkerchief  upon 


Silas  Strong 

his  arm  was  dripping  wet.  Again  he  stopped 
the  blood  by  cording. 

He  lay  back  on  the  ground  suffering  with 
faintness  and  acute  pain.  Soon  obeying  the 
instinct  of  man  and  beast,  which  prompts  one 
to  hide  his  weakness  and  even  his  death-throes, 
he  crept  behind  the  top  of  a  fallen  tree. 

His  heart  had  been  overstrained  of  late  by 
worry  and  heavy  toil.  Now  for  the  first  time 
he  could  feel  it  laboring  a  little  as  if  it  missed 
the  blood  which  had  been  dripping  slowly  but 
steadily  from  his  arm.  At  last  a  day  was  come 
that  had  no  pleasure  in  it — a  day  when  the 
keepers  of  the  house  had  begun  to  tremble. 

Soon  the  warm  sunlight  fell  through  forest 
branches  on  the  great  body  of  Strong,  who  had 
lost  command  of  himself  and  become  the 
prisoner  of  sleep. 

In  the  memorandum -book  there  is  an  entry 
without  date  in  a  script  of  unusual  size.  Those 
large  letters  were  made  slowly  and  with  a  trem 
bling  hand.  It  was  probably  written  while  he 
sat  there  in  the  lonely,  autumn  woods  before 
giving  up  to  his  weakness.  This  is  the  entry: 


"Theys  days  when  I  dont  blieve  God  is  over  per- 
ticklar  with  a  man  bout  swearin." 

316 


XXXIII 


OON  after  breakfast  that  morning 
Master  had  hitched  the  ox  to  the 
boat-jumper. 

"My  land!     Where  ye  goin'?" 
Sinth  inquired. 

"To-morrow  we're  going  out  to  Benson  Falls 
with  you  and  the  children,"  said  Master.  "I 
thought  we'd  better  take  the  ox  and  what  things 
you  need  to-day  as  far  as  Link  Harris's.  That's 
about  four  miles  down  the  Leonard  trail.  The 
ox  will  have  all  he  can  do  to-morrow  if  he  starts 
from  Harris's." 

The  young  man  said  nothing  of  another  pur 
pose  which  he  had  in  mind — that  of  learning,  as 
soon  as  possible,  the  nearest  way  out  of  the 
Rainbow  country. 

"What  does  that  mean?"  Sinth  asked. 

"Only  this — we  may  have  trouble  with  these 

pirates,  and  we  want   to   get   you   out  of  the 

way.      We'll    have    to     travel,    and    we    can't 

leave  you   in   the   camp   alone.     You   and  the 


Silas  Strong 

children  can  ride  over,  and  we'll  come  back 
afoot." 

So  Sinth  packed  her  satchels  and  a  big  camp- 
bag,  and  all  made  the  journey  to  Harris's  where 
they  left  the  ox  and  the  jumper. 

It  was  near  six  o'clock  when  they  returned 
to  the  little  camp  at  Rainbow.  Strong  was  not 
there,  and  after  supper,  while  the  dusk  fell,  they 
sat  on  a  blanket  by  the  fire,  and  Sinth  raked  the 
old  scrap-heap  of  family  history  to  which  a 
score  of  ancestors  had  contributed,  each  in  his 
time.  It  was  all  a  kind  of  folk-lore — mouldy, 
rusty,  distorted,  dreamlike.  It  told  of  bears 
in  the  pig-pen,  of  moose  in  the  door-yard,  of 
panthers  glaring  through  the  windows  at  night, 
of  Indians  surrounding  the  cabin,  and  of  the 
torture  by  fire  and  steel. 

At  bedtime  Silas  had  not  arrived.  Sinth, 
however,  showed  no  sign  of  worry.  He  knew  the 
woods  so  well,  and  there  were  bear  and  fish  and 
sundry  temptations,  each  greater  than  his  bed. 

"Mebbe  he's  took  after  a  bear,"  Sinth  sug 
gested,,  while  she  began  to  undress  the  children. 

"You  remember  we  heard  him  shoot  soon 
after  he  left  here,"  said  Master.  "  It  may  be  he 
wounded  a  bear  and  followed  him." 

"Like  as  not,"  she  answered. 

318 


Silas    Strong 

In  a  moment  she  put  her  hand  on  Master's 
arm  and  whispered  to  him. 

"Say,"  said  she,  "I  don't  want  to  make 
trouble,  but  if  I  was  you  I  wouldn't  wait  no 
longer  for  that  old  fool." 

She  stabbed  the  needles  into  her  ball  of  yarn 
and  rolled  up  her  knitting.  She  continued,  with 
a  sigh  of  impatience: 

"I'd  go  over  to  Buckhorn  an'  git  that  girl,  if 
I  had  to  bring  'er  on  my  back." 

"That's  about  what  I  propose  to  do,"  said 
the  young  man,  with  a  laugh. 

"I'm  sick  o'  this  dilly-dallyin',"  said  Sinth, 
"an'  I  guess  she  is,  too." 

With  that  she  led  Socky  and  Sue  into  the  tent. 

When  the  others  had  gone  to  bed  Master  be 
gan  to  think  of  the  shot  which  had  broken  the 
silence  of  the  autumn  woods  that  morning.  He 
lighted  a  lantern  and  followed  as  nearly  as  he 
could  the  direction  his  friend  had  taken.  By- 
and-by  he  stopped  and  whistled  on  his  thumb 
and  stood  listening.  The  woods  were  silent. 
Soon  he  could  see  where  Strong  had  crossed  a 
little  run  and  roughed  the  leaves  beyond  it. 
Master  followed  his  tracks  and  came  to  the 
dead  deer.  He  saw  that  a  bear  had  found  it, 
and  near  by  there  were  signs  of  a  struggle  and 

319 


Silas    Strong 

of  fresh  blood.  Now  satisfied  that  Strong  had 
shot  and  followed  the  bear,  he  hurried  back  to 
camp. 

He  spread  a  blanket  before  the  fire  and  lay 
down  to  think  and  rest  in  the  silence.  Buck- 
horn  was  only  four  miles  from  the  upper  end  of 
Rainbow.  One  could  put  his  canoe  in  the 
Middle  Branch  and  go  without  a  carry  to  the 
outlet  of  Slender  Lake — little  more  than  a  great 
marsh — then  up  the  still  water  to  a  landing 
within  half  an  hour  of  Dunmore's.  He  would 
make  the  journey  in  a  day  or  two,  and,  if  pos 
sible,  take  the  girl  out  of  the  woods. 

The  night  was  dark  and  still.  He  could  hear 
now  and  then  the  fall  of  a  dead  leaf  that  gave 
a  ghostly  whisper  as  it  brushed  through  high 
branches  on  its  way  down. 

Suddenly  another  sound  caught  his  ear.  He 
rose  and  listened.  It  was  a  distant,  rhythmic 
beat  of  oars  on  the  lake.  Who  could  be  cross 
ing  at  that  hour?  He  walked  to  the  shore  and 
stood  looking  off  into  inky  darkness.  He  could 
still  hear  the  sound  of  oars.  Some  one  was  row 
ing  with  a  swift,  nervous,  jumping  stroke,  and 
the  sound  was  growing  fainter.  Somehow  it 
quickened  the  pulse  of  the  young  man  a  little — 
he  wondered  why. 

320 


XXXIV 

ASTER  returned  to  the  fire  and 
lay  back  on  his  blanket.  Little 
puffs  of  air  had  begun  to  rattle 
the  dead  leaves  above  him.  Soon 
he  could  hear  a  wind  coming  over 
the  woodland.  It  was  like  the  roar  of  dis 
tant  sea  -  billows.  Waves  of  wind  began  to 
whistle  in  the  naked  branches  overhead.  In  a 
moment  the  main  flood  of  the  gale  was  roaring 
through  them,  and  every  tree  column  had  be 
gun  to  creak  and  groan.  Master  rose  and  looked 
up  at  the  sky.  He  could  see  a  wavering  glow 
through  the  tree-tops.  The  odor  of  smoke  was 
in  the  air.  He  ran  to  call  Miss  Strong,  and  met 
her  coming  out  of  her  tent.  She  had  smelled 
the  smoke  and  quickly  dressed. 

"My  land,  the  woods  are  afire!"  she  cried. 
The  sky  had  brightened  as  if  a  great,  golden 
moon  were  rising. 

Si  nth  ran  back  into  her  tent  and  woke  the 
children.     With    swift    and    eager    hands    the 

321 


Silas    Strong 

young  man  helped  her  while  she  put  on  their 
clothes.  She  said  not  a  word  until  they  were 
dressed.  Then,  half  blinded  by  thickening 
smoke  and  groping  on  her  way  to  the  other 
tent,  she  said,  despairingly,  "I  wonder  where 
Silas  is?" 

A  great,  feathery  cinder  fell  through  the  tree- 
tops. 

"Come  quick,  we  must  get  out  of  here,"  Mas 
ter  called,  as  he  lifted  the  crying  children. 
"We've  no  time  to  lose." 

She  flung  some  things  in  a  satchel  and  tried  to 
follow.  In  the  smoke  it  was  difficult  to  breathe 
and  almost  impossible  to  find  their  way.  Mas 
ter  put  down  the  children  and  tore  some  rope 
from  a  tent-side  and  tied  it  to  the  dog's  collar. 
Then  he  shouted,  "  Go  home,  Zeb !"  They  clung 
to  one  another  while  the  dog  led  them  into  the 
trail.  Master  had  Socky  and  Sue  in  his  arms. 
He  hurried  up  the  long  slope  of  Rainbow  Ridge, 
the  woman  following. 

They  could  now  hear  the  charge  and  raven  of 
the  flames  that  were  tearing  into  a  resinous 
swamp-roof  not  far  away. 

"Comin'  fast!"  Sinth  exclaimed.  "Can't  see 
or  breathe  hardly." 

"Drop  your  satchel  and  cling  to  my  coat- 
322 


Silas    Strong 

tails,"  Master  answered,  stopping  to  give  her  a 
hold. 

A  burning  rag  of  rotten  timber,  flying  with 
the  wind,  caught  in  a  green  top  above  them.  It 
broke  and  fell  in  flakes  of  fire.  Master  flung  one 
off  his  coat-sleeve,  and,  seizing  a  stalk  of  witch- 
hopple,  whipped  the  glow  out  of  them.  On 
they  pressed,  mounting  slowly  into  better  air. 
Just  ahead  of  them  they  could  see  the  wavering 
firelight  on  their  trail.  On  a  bare  ledge  near 
the  summit  they  stopped  to  rest  their  lungs  a 
moment. 

They  were  now7  above  the  swift  army  of  flame 
and  a  little  off  the  west  flank  of  it.  They  could 
see  into  a  red,  smoky,  luminous  gulf,  leagues 
long  and  wide,  beneath  the  night-shadow.  Ten 
thousand  torches  of  balsam  and  spruce  and  pine 
and  hemlock  sent  aloft  their  reeling  towers  of 
flame  and  flung  their  light  through  the  long 
valley.  It  illumined  a  black,  wind-driven  cloud 
of  smoke  waving  over  the  woodland  like  a  dis 
mal  flag  of  destruction.  A  great  wedge  of  flame 
was  rending  its  way  northward.  Sparks  leaped 
along  the  sides  of  it  like  fiery  dust  beneath  the 
feet  of  the  conqueror.  They  rose  high  and 
drifted  over  the  lake  chasm  and  fell  in  a  sleet 
of  fire  on  the  lighted  waves.  The  loose  and 

323 


Silas   Strong 

tattered  jacket  of  many  an  old  stub  was  torn 
into  glowing  rags  and  scattered  by  the  wind. 
Some  hurtled  off  a  mile  or  more  from  their  source, 
and  isolated  fountains  of  flame  were  spreading 
here  and  there  on  balsam  flats  near  the  lake 
margin.  Some  of  the  tall  firs,  when  first  touched 
by  the  cinder-shower,  were  like  great  Christmas- 
trees  hung  with  tinsel  and  lighted  by  many 
candles.  New -caught  flames,  bending  in  the 
wind,  had  the  look  of  horses  at  full  gallop.  Ropes 
and  arrows  and  spears  and  lances  of  fire  were 
flying  and  curveting  over  the  doomed  woods. 

The  travellers  halted  only  for  a  moment .  They 
could  feel  the  heat  on  their  faces.  Black  smoke 
had  begun  to  roll  over  the  heights  around 
them. 

"  It  '11  go  up  the  valley  in  an  hour  an'  cut  Silas 
off,"  Sinth  whimpered  as  they  went  on. 

* "  He  must  have  crossed  the  valley  before  now," 
the  young  man  assured  her. 

The  woman  ran  ahead  and  called,  loudly, 
" Silas!  Silas!"  She  continued  calling  as  they 
hurried  on  through  thickening  smoke.  They 
halted  for  a  word  at  Leonard's  Trail,  which  left 
the  main  thoroughfare  to  Rainbow,  and,  going 
down  the  east  side  of  the  ridge,  fared  away  some 
ten  miles  over  hill  and  dale  to  the  open  country. 

324 


Silas    Strong 

It  was  at  right  angles  with  the  way  of  the  wind 
and  would  soon  lead  them  out  of  danger. 

"Make  for  Benson  Falls  with  the  childern!" 
cried  Sinth.  "I'm  goin'  after  Silas."  She  knew 
that  her  brother  would  surely  be  coming — that, 
seeing  the  fire,  he  would  take  any  hazard  to 
reach  them. 

Master  knew  not  what  to  do.  He  had  begun 
to  worry  about  the  people  at  Buckhorn,  but  his 
work  was  nearer  to  his  hand.  It  was  there  at 
the  fork  in  the  trail.  He  sent  a  loud,  far-reach 
ing  cry  down  the  wind,  but  heard  no  answer. 

"He'll  take  care  of  himself — you'd  better  get 
away  from  this  valley,"  he  called. 

An  oily  top  had  taken  fire  below  and  within 
a  hundred  yards  of  them. 

"Go,  go  quick,  an'  save  them  childern!"  she 
urged.  Then  she  ran  away  from  him. 

She  hurried  along  the  top  of  the  ridge,  calling 
as  she  went.  A  dim,  misty  glow  filled  the 
cavern  of  the  woods  around  her.  Just  ahead 
drops  of  fire  seemed  to  be  dripping  through  the 
forest  roof.  It  failed  to  catch.  It  would  let 
her  go  a  little  farther,  and  she  pressed  on.  A 
fold  of  the  great  streamer  of  smoke  was  rent 
away  and  rolled  up  the  side  of  the  ridge  and 
covered  her.  She  sank  upon  her  knees,  nearly 

325 


Silas    Strong 

smothered,  and  put  her  skirt  over  her  face.  The 
cloud  passed  in  a  moment.  Her  sleeve  caught 
fire  and  she  put  it  out  with  her  hand.  She 
felt  her  peril  more  keenly  and  tried  to  run.  She 
heard  Zeb  sniffing  and  coughing  near.  Master 
had  let  him  go,  thinking  that  he  might  help  her 
in  some  way.  She  stooped  and  called  to  him 
and  took  hold  of  the  dragging  rope.  The  dog 
pressed  on  so  eagerly  that  he  carried  part  of 
her  weight.  A  broken  bough  in  a  tree-top  just 
ahead  of  her  had  caught  fire  and  swung  like  a 
big  lantern.  She  had  no  sooner  passed  than 
she  heard  the  tree  burst  into  flame  with  a  sound 
like  the  frying  of  fat.  She  felt  her  hand  sting 
ing  her  and  saw  that  a  little  flame  was  running 
up  the  side  of  her  skirt.  She  cried,  "Mercy!" 
and  knelt  and  smothered  it  with  her  hands. 
Gasping  for  breath,  she  fell  forward,  her  face 
upon  the  ground. 

"Silas  Strong,"  she  moaned,  "you  got  to 
come  quick  or  I  won't  never  see  you  again." 
The  dog  heard  her  and  licked  her  face. 

Down  among  the  ferns  and  mosses  she  found  a 
stratum  of  clear  air,  and  in  a  moment  rose  and 
reeled  a  few  steps  farther.  The  flank  of  the 
invader  had  overrun  the  heights.  Her  seeking 
was  near  its  end.  Showers  of  fire  were  falling 

326 


Silas    Strong 

beyond  and  beside  her.  She  lay  down  and 
covered  her  face  to  protect  it  from  heat  and 
smoke.  She  rose  and  staggered  on,  calling  loud 
ly.  Then  she  heard  a  bark  from  Zeb  and  the 
familiar  halloo  of  Silas  Strong. 

Through  some  subtle  but  sure  intuition  the 
two  had  known  what  to  expect  of  each  other 
and  had  clung  to  the  trail.  She  saw  him  run 
ning  out  of  the  smoke-cloud  and  whipping  his 
arms  with  his  old  felt  hat.  One  side  of  his 
beard  was  burned  away.  He  picked  her  up 
as  if  she  had  been  a  child  and  ran  down  the  east 
side  of  the  ridge  with  her,  leaping  over  logs  and 
crashing  through  fallen  tops.  Beyond  the  show 
ering  sparks  he  stopped  and  smothered  a  circle 
of  creeping  fire  on  her  skirt.  Sinth  lay  in  his 
arms  moaning  and  sobbing.  He  shook  her  and 
shouted,  almost  fiercely,  "The  leetle  f -fawns — 
wh-where  be  they?" 

"Gone  with  him  on  Leonard's  Trail,"  Sinth 
answered,  brokenly. 

He  entered  a  swamp  in  the  dim-lighted  forest, 
now  running,  now  striding  slowly  through  fallen 
timber  and  up  to  his  knees  in  the  damp  earth. 
Every  moment  the  air  was  growing  clearer. 
He  ran  over  a  hard -wood  hill  and  slackened  pace 
while  he  made  his  way  half  across  a  wide  flat. 

327 


Silas    Strong 

When  he  struck  the  trail  to  Benson  Falls  the 
fire-glow  was  fainter.  Now  and  then  a  great, 
rushing  billow  of  light  swept  over  them  and 
vanished.  He  stopped  and  blew  and  put  Sinth 
on  her  feet. 

"Hard  n-night,  sis/'  said  he,  tenderly. 

She  stood  and  made  no  answer.  In  a  flare 
of  firelight  he  saw  that  she  was  holding  out  one 
of  her  hands.  He  struck  a  match  and  looked 
at  it  and  made  a  rueful  cluck.  The  fire  of  the 
match  seemed  to  frighten  her;  she  staggered 
backward  and  fell  with  a  cry.  He  caught  her 
up  and  strode  slowly  on.  Soon  she  seemed  to  re 
cover  self-control  and  lay  silent.  He  was  in 
great  pain;  he  was  reeling  under  his  burden, 
but  he  kept  on.  She  put  up  a  hand  and  felt  his 
face. 

"Why,  Silas,"  she  said,  in  a  frightened  voice, 
"you're  crying." 

It  was  then  that  he  fell  to  the  ground  helpless. 


XXXV 

ERROR  had  begun  to  spread  in 
the  wilderness  north  of  Rainbow. 
The  smoky  wind,  the  growing  fire 
light  had  roused  all  the  children 
of  the  forest.  Chattering  birds 
rose  high  and  took  the  way  of  the  wind  to 
safety.  One  could  see  flying  lines  of  wild-fowl 
in  the  lighted  heavens;  faintly,  as  they  passed, 
one  could  hear  their  startled  cries.  Deer  ran 
aimlessly  through  the  woods  like  frightened 
sheep.  From  scores  of  camps  on  lake  and 
pond  and  river — from  Buckhorn,  from  Barsook, 
from  Five  Ponds,  from  Sabattis,  from  Big  and 
Little  Sandy,  from  Lost  River — people,  who  had 
seen  the  fire  coming,  were  on  their  way  out  of 
the  woods. 

Master  ran  at  first  down  Leonard's  Trail 
with  the  boy  and  girl  in  his  arms.  Soon  his 
thoughts  halted  him.  He  had  withstood  the 
severest  trial  that  may  be  set  before  a  man. 
To  be  compelled  to  seek  safety  with  the  chil- 
«  329 


Silas    Strong 

dren,  while  a  woman  took  the  way  of  peril 
before  his  eyes,  had  made  him  falter  a  mo 
ment. 

He  hoped  that  Sinth  had  left  the  ridge,  now 
overrun  with  flames,  and  fled  down  the  slope. 
If  so  she  would  be  looking  for  Leonard's  Trail. 
He  stopped  every  few  paces  and  sent  a  loud 
halloo  into  the  woods.  Fire  was  crackling  down 
the  side  of  the  ridge.  As  he  looked  back  it 
seemed  to  him  that  the  great  lake  of  hell  must 
be  flooding  into  the  world. 

Soon  the  trail  led  him  to  Sinth,  who  was  on 
her  knees  and  sobbing  beside  her  brother. 

That  wiry  little  woman  had  struggled  there 
alone  with  energy  past  all  belief.  She  thought 
only  of  the  danger  and  forgot  her  pain.  She 
had  toiled  with  the  heavy  body  of  her  brother, 
as  the  ant  toils  with  a  burden  larger  than  itself, 
dragging  it  slowly,  inch  by  inch,  in  the  direction 
of  Harris's.  She  had  moved  it  a  distance  of 
some  fifty  feet  before  she  heard  the  call  of  Mas 
ter.  Then  she  fell  moaning  and  clinging  to  the 
hands  of  him  she  loved  better,  far  better  even, 
than  she  had  ever  permitted  herself  to  know. 
It  may  well  be  doubted — O  you  who  have  prob 
ably  lost  patience  with  her  long  ago! — if  any 
thing  in  human  history  is  more  wonderful  than 

330 


Silas   Strong 

the  lonely  struggle  of  hers  in  that  dim,  flaring, 
threatening  hell-glow. 

Master  quickly  knelt  by  the  fallen  Emperor. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked. 

"He's  gi'n  out — done  fer  me  until  he  can't  do 
no  more,"  she  wailed. 

She  put  her  arms  around  the  great  breast  of 
the  man  and  laid  her  cheek  upon  it  tenderly. 
Then  her  heart,  which  had  always  hidden  its 
fondness,  spoke  out  in  a  broken  cry: 

"  Silas  Strong — speak  t'  me.  I  can't — I  can't 
spare  ye  nohow — I  can't  spare  ye." 

The  children  knelt  by  her  and  called  with 
frightened  voices:  "Uncle  Silas!  Uncle  Silas!" 

o 

Strong  began  to  move.  Those  beloved  voices 
had  seemed  to  call  him  back.  He  put  his  hand 
on  the  head  of  Sinth  and  drew  it  close  to  him. 

"B-better  times!"  he  whispered.  "B-better 
times,  I  tell  ye,  s-sis!" 

He  struggled  to  his  knees. 

"S-say,"  he  said  to  Master,  "I've  been  shot. 
T-tie  yer  han'kerchief  'r-round  my  arm  quick." 

The  young  man  tied  his  handkerchief  as 
directed.  Then  Strong  tried  to  rise,  but  his 
weight  bore  him  down. 

"Lie  still,"  said  Master.     "I  can  carry  you." 

He  took  the  rope  from  Zeb's  collar  and  looped 


Silas  Strong 

it  over  the  breast  of  the  helpless  man  and  drew 
its  ends  under  his  arms  and  knotted  them. 
Then,  while  Sinth  supported  her  brother,  the 
young  man  reached  backward  over  his  shoul 
ders  and,  grasping  the  rope,  lifted  his  friend  so 
their  backs  were  against  each  other,  and,  lean 
ing  under  his  burden,  struggled  on  with  it,  the 
others  following. 

It  was  a  toilsome,  painful  journey  to  Harris's. 
But  what  is  impossible  when  the  strong  heart 
of  youth,  warmed  with  dauntless  courage,  turns 
to  its  task?  We  that  wonder  as  we  look  back 
ward  may  venture  to  put  the  query,  but  dare 
not  answer  it. 

Often  Master  fell  to  his  knees  and  there 
steadied  himself  a  moment  with  heaving  breast, 
then  tightened  his  thews  again  and  rose  and 
measured  the  way  with  slow,  staggering  feet. 

An  hour  or  so  later  a  clear-voiced  call  rang 
through  the  noisy  wind.  They  stopped  and 
listened. 

"Somebody  coming,"  said  Master. 

He  answered  with  a  loud  halloo  as  they  went 
on  wearily.  Soon  they  saw  some  one  approach 
ing  in  the  dusky  trail. 

"Who's  there?"  the  young  man  asked. 

"  Edith  Dunmore,"  was  the  answer  that  trem- 
332 


Silas    Strong 

bled  with  gladness.  "  Oh,  sir!  I  would  have  gone 
through  the  fire." 

"I  know,"  said  he,  ''you  would  have  gone 
through  the  fire." 

"For — for  you,"  she  added,  brokenly. 

Master  dared  not  lay  down  his  burden.  He 
toiled  on,  his  heart  so  full  that  he  could  not  an 
swer.  The  girl  walked  beside  him  for  a  moment 
of  solemn,  suggestive  silence.  She  could  dimly 
see  the  prostrate  body  of  Strong  on  the  back  of 
her  lover,  and  understood.  What  a  singular 
and  noble  restraint  was  in  that  meeting! 

"I  love  you — I  love  you,  and  I  want  to  help 
you,"  she  said,  as  she  walked  beside  him. 

"Help  Miss  Strong,"  he  answered.  "She  is 
badly  burned." 

Little  Sue  was  overcome  with  weariness  and 
fear,  and  could  not  be  comforted. 

The  maiden  carried  her  with  one  arm  and 
with  the  other  supported  Sinth.  So,  slowly, 
they  made  their  way  over  the  rough  trail. 

"How  came  you  here?"  Master  inquired, 
presently. 

"We  saw  the  fire  coming  and  hurried  to 
Slender  Lake,  and  fled  in  boats  and  came  down 
the  river." 

When,  late  in  the  night,  the  little  band  of 
333 


Silas    Strong 

lovers  reeled  across  the  dimlit  clearing,  it  was 
in  sore  distress.  Their  feet  dragged,  their  hearts 
and  bodies  stooped  with  heaviness.  A  company 
of  woods -folk,  who  stood  in  front  of  Harris's 
looking  off  at  the  fire,  ran  to  meet  them.  They 
lifted  the  dragging  Emperor  and  helped  the 
young  man  carry  him  in-doors.  Master  was  no 
sooner  relieved  of  his  burden  than  he  fell  ex 
hausted  on  the  floor. 

Edith  Dunmore  knelt  by  him  and  raised  his 
hands  to  her  lips.  She  helped  him  rise,  and  then 
for  a  moment  they  stood  and  trembled  in  each 
other's  arms,  and  were  like  unto  the  oak  and  the 
vine  that  clings  to  it. 

Dunmore  and  his  mother  stood  looking  at 
them.  The  white-haired  man  had  taken  the 
children  in  his  arms. 

"  I  thought  she  went  to  bed  and  to  sleep  long 
ago,"  he  muttered. 

"  Without  her  we  should  have  perished,"  said 
the  old  lady. 

"Yes,  and  she  shall  have  her  way,"  he  an 
swered.  "One  might  as  well  try  to  keep  the 
deer  out  of  the  lily-pads."  He  kissed  the  boy 
and  girl,  and  added,  with  a  sigh,  "This  world  is 
for  the  young." 


XXXVI 


LL  stood  aghast  for  a  moment 
in  the  light  of  the  lamps  around 
the  bed  of  Strong.  His  clothes 
were  burned,  bloody,  and  torn — 
they  lay  in  rags  upon  him.  His 
face  and  hands  were  swollen;  part  of  his  hair 
and  beard  had  been  shorn  off  in  the  storm  of 
fire  through  which  he  had  fought  his  way.  He 
spoke  not,  but  there  was  the  grim  record  of  his 
fight  with  the  flames — of  the  terrible  punish 
ment  they  had  put  upon  him  while  the  sturdy 
old  lover  sought  his  friends.  All  hands  made 
haste  to  do  what  they  could  for  him  and  for  the 
woman  he  had  carried  out  of  the  fire  of  the  pit. 
He  had  told  Master  that  Annette  was  waiting 
for  him  at  the  Falls.  The  young  man  sent 
Harris  to  bring  her  with  horse  and  buckboard. 
Strong  lay  like  one  dead  while  they  gave  him 
spirits  and  bathed  his  face  and  hands  in  oil. 
Soon  he  revived  a  little. 

"It's  Business,"  he  muttered. 
335 


Silas  Strong 

In  a  moment  his  thoughts  began  to  wander 
in  a  curious  delirium  filled  with  suggestions  of 
the  old  cheerfulness.  He  sang,  feebly: 

"The  briers   are   above  my  head,  the   brakes  above 

my  knee, 

An'  the  bark  is  gettin*  kind  o'  blue  upon  the  ven'son- 
tree." 

Rain  had  begun  falling  and  daylight  was  on 
the  window-panes. 

The  dethroned  Emperor  continued  to  sing 
fragments  of  old  songs  so  familiar  to  all  who 
knew  him. 

"  It  was  in  the  summer-time  when  I  sailed,  when  I 
sailed," 

he  sang.  Socky  stood  by  the  bed  of  his  uncle 
with  a  sad  face. 

"  Th-thumbs  down,"  Strong  demanded,  faintly. 

Master  went  out  on  the  little  veranda  and 
looked  down  the  road.  He  could  hear  the  voice 
of  his  friend  singing: 

"The  green  groves  are  gone  from  the  hills,  Maggie." 

"It  is  true,"  thought  the  young  man  as  he 
looked  off  at  the  smouldering  woods.  "They 
are  gone  and  so  are  the  green  hearts." 

336 


Silas    Strong 

Annette  came  presently  and  Strong  rose  on 
his  elbow  and  looked  at  her. 

"Ann,"  he  called,  as  she  knelt  by  his  bedside. 
"  To  -day  —  to-day!  It's  n-no'  some  day  any 
m-more.  It's  to-day." 

He  sank  back  on  his  pillow  when  he  saw  her 
tears,  and  whispered,  almost  doubtfully,  "Bet 
ter  t-times!" 

He  leaned  forward  and  put  up  his  hands  as  if 
to  relieve  the  pressure  of  his  pack-straps,  and  in 
a  moment  he  had  gone  out  of  hearing  on  a  trail 
that  leads  to  the  "better  times"  he  had  hoped 
for,  let  us  try  to  believe. 

So  ends  the  history  of  Silas  Strong,  guide, 
contriver,  lover  of  the  woods  and  streams,  of 
honor  and  good-fellowship.  He  was  never  to 
bow  his  head  before  the  dreaded  tyrant  of  this 
world.  We  may  be  glad  of  that,  and  remember 
gratefully  and  with  renewed  thought  of  our  own 
standing  that  Strong  was  ahead. 

A  curious  procession  made  its  way  out  of  the 
woods  that  morning.  Socky  and  Sue  walked 
ahead.  Master  and  Edith  and  her  father  fol 
lowed.  Then  came  the  boat-jumper  with  Sinth 
and  all  that  remained  of  Silas  Strong  in  it; 
then  the  buckboard  that  carried  Harris  and 
old  Mrs.  Dunmore  and  the  servants.  Slow- 

337 


Silas   Strong 

ly  they  made  their  way  towards  the  sown 
land. 

"What  ye  cryin'  fer?"  a  stranger  asked  the 
children  as  he  passed  them. 

"Our  Uncle  Silas  died,"  was  the  all-sufficient 
reply  of  Socky. 

Soon  they  could  hear  the  roar  of  the  saws. 

"Look!"  said  Dunmore  to  his  daughter,  as 
they  came  in  sight  of  the  mill  chimney.  "  There's 
the  edge  of  the  great  world." 

He  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  children  a  mo 
ment  and  added: 

"  It  all  reminds  me  of  the  words  of  a  mighty 
teacher,  'A  little  child  shall  lead  them.'" 

And  what  of  Migley  and  the  rest?  Word  of 
his  harshness  in  driving  Sinth  and  the  children 
out  of  their  home  had  travelled  over  the  land, 
and  not  all  the  king's  money  could  have  saved 
him.  Master  went  to  the  Legislature  —  where 
God  prosper  him! — and  the  young  lumberman 
was  condemned  to  obscurity. 

Master  and  Edith  live  at  Clear  Lake  most 
of  the  year,  and  the  cranes  have  brought  them 
a  young  fairy  regarded  by  Socky  and  Sue,  who 
often  visit  there,  with  deep  interest  and  affec 
tion.  Sinth  will  spend  the  rest  of  her  days, 

338 


Silas   Strong 

probably,   in  the  home  of  Gordon  at   Benson 
Falls. 

As  to  Annette,  like  many  daughters  of  the 
Puritan,  she  lives  with  a  memory,  and  her  hope 
is  still  and  all  in  that  "  some  day,"  gone  now  into 
the  land  of  faith  and  mystery. 

The  once  beautiful  valley  of  Rainbow  was 
turned  into  black  ruins  that  night  of  the  fire. 
Soon  a  "game  pirate,"  who  had  "blabbed"  in  a 
spree,  was  arrested  for  the  crime  of  causing  it. 
The  authorities  promised  to  let  him  go  if  he 
would  tell  the  truth.  He  told  how  he  had  been 
with  "Red"  Macdonald  that  night  and  saw  him 
fire  the  woods.  They  fled  to  the  shore  of  Rain 
bow  and  crossed  in  a  boat.  Near  the  middle  of 
the  lake  they  broke  an  oar,  and  a  mile  of  green 
tops  had  begun  to  "fry"  before  they  landed. 
They  ran  eastward  in  a  panic.  They  crossed 
Bushrod  Creek  on  a  big  log  that  spanned  the 
water.  At  the  farther  end  of  it  Macdonald, 
who  was  in  the  lead,  put  his  foot  in  one  bear- 
trap  and  fell  into  another.  His  friend  tried  to 
release  him,  but  soon  had  to  give  up  and  run 
for  his  life. 

He  went  with  an  officer  and  found  the  heap 
of  bones  that  lay  between  two  rusty  traps  in 
the  desolate  valley. 

339 


Silas    Strong 

"  After  all,  he  got  exac'ly  what  was  comin'  to 
him,"  said  he,  looking  down  at  the  ghastly  thing. 
"  It  was  him  shot  the  'Emp'ror  o'  the  Woods.' " 

Who  was  to  pay  Macdonald  for  his  work? 
That  probably  will  never  be  known. 


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